


Indulge Me

by MagicaAria



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, Drinking to Cope, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Romance, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-06-26 01:16:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19757608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicaAria/pseuds/MagicaAria
Summary: "When I was told of the Holy See, they spoke of a man whom had silver laced on his tongue. Now I know that to be truth."WOL x Ser Aymeric Work drawn from an idea I had whilst playing through Heavensward, back in the day. WOL inspired by my own FFXIV character Emilia with reference to Estinein pairings with my friend Yvette, and my other friend D've.Emilia has gone missing in the Foundation one night, and a certain NPC is fetched to assist in finding her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WOL x Ser Aymeric Work drawn from an idea I had whilst playing through Heavensward, back in the day. WOL inspired by my own FFXIV character Emilia with reference to Estinein pairings with my friend Yvette, and my other friend D've. Though not a lot of backstory is included here, to my character, I hope to write other fics such as this to help shed light on this pairing and who/how Emilia is what she is. I don't pride myself on my writing, but it's been in my phone's notes for so long I thought I'd actually write it out and put it on here - I hope you like it! <3

The Lord Commander frowned as he walked into the upper floors of the establishment. Both the loud screams and bustle of the inn drowned him immediately, which became even louder as the door to the wintery town behind shut against it’s frame. Lucia and his accompanying dragoon stepped in alongside of him, “Shall we talk to the inn-keep or?”

Aymeric had always enjoyed the smell of spiced brandy, or the lull of mulled wine, but the scent of adrenaline and merriment was overwhelming tonight. He had grown up in homes and places such as these, so the smell and general grime of pubs he didn’t mind, the warmth was especially comfortable; he did mind the attitude of the crowd, however. He couldn’t quite see over the railings to the source of the commotion coming from below, but he could hear her voice; loud, clear, and heavily slurred.

“Don’t you d-dare *hic* lay a hand on me you lengthy welp of *hic* trash!” 

The elezen’s face hardened as he began to push through the crowded stairway. Alphinaud had sought him in the Congregation just recently, reporting that Tataru had lost sight of Emilia shortly before dinner at House Fortemps. Tataru had begun a search near Camp Dragonhead, where Emilia had frequented on her previous missions for the Holy See, but no sightings of her had been reported from the latter half of the morning. 

Aymeric had heard mention of the Warrior of Light frequenting areas in Coerthas with her two comrades, of which his companion Estinein had taken a liking to. To assist with the reclamation of their guild, the trio would set out in the forelands to scavenge and hunt, and as Emilia had told him once before, to “clear her mind of politics and judgement.” As a protective measure, however, he had asked his long-time friend to accompany the scions and the miquo’te’s on their trips into the snowy wastelands. Ascians had become much too brave of late and with the trio being new, in addition to that of the remaining primal slayers he housed in the Foundation, it created a very desirable situation for that of the latter party. 

To the long and short of it, Alphinaud sought the Lord Commanders help after conducting his own search through the Pillars, “I know Emilia is sometimes prone to wander off by herself. Considering what’s happened recently I wouldn’t entirely blame her for wanting some space, but she knows to report in by linkpearl if she will be gone for any length of time. For hydaelyn’s sake we’re trying to keep a low profile after what happened with the rest of the Scions!” 

In response, Ser Aymeric took to Lucia and his guard to begin a sweep of the city, including the lower dwellings of the Foundation, whilst Estinein, Yvette, and D’ve took on that of the Ishgardian wilderness. It didn’t take long, but the first report to return was from that of the nearby inn; last they’d seen, an armor-clad miqo’te wielding a rather large blade in the nearby Forgotten Knight was drinking with a collection of elezens. Since, a warrant had been issued to the guard to remove her at once, and by whatever means necessary. 

The Lord Commander’s lips grew taunt as he reached the landing at the end of the spiraled staircase. Both Lucia and his accompanying Temple Dragoon insisted they remain among the crowd, just on the chance that any issue were to arise by the removal of their target. The Scions may be trying to keep a low profile amongst the community of Ishgard, but this woman is the Warrior of Light. He simply would not have her name slandered before the people could have words with her themselves. 

“‘Oy, I told chu *hic* do yew not know eho I am yew *hic* rubbish?!” 

Ser Aymeric cleared the last of the crowd and the room suddenly fell silent, save for the group in the very center. Emilia, clad in bloodstained, chain-mail style armor was standing atop a long wooden bar table. His eyes widened as he took in the scene; she stood tall, one hand wrapped around the neck of a young Elezen man and the other wrapped tightly around a blade more than equal to that of the miqo’te’s height and double her width. Three others were standing before her with blades, not quite the size of her own but still large enough to rival, and steins still heralding the evenings tap. The Lord Commander began walking forward, trying his best not to brandish his own sword in the process.

The miqo’te wore a feral grin on her lips revealing, in part, her sharpened canines and slightly bleeding teeth. Her hair curled in its normal one-sided fashion, matted and slick along the frame of her face, but beneath the blood and bangs her eyes stared with vibrant fervor. Unblinking, cold, and all color, aside from her knife-like pupils. 

She didn’t falter her stance or hold as the clang of armor and footsteps grew closer, but rather she moved back, dragging the poor Elezen with her.

“Bitch, I’m warning you for the last bloody time, put me bloke down or I’m going to bury my blade in your fucking bosom.” 

Emilia spat a large glob of blood at the man and laughed, “Yer bloke ‘ere *hic* thought it’d be a funny to come up an’ try to wack my tail wit his blade, *hic* afer he dun called me a whore lookin’ fer a good ‘ime.” Aymeric felt a sudden, molten coolness take him from the stomach and feed in slow, branching sharpness to his chest and arms. His hand had already found and drawn his blade, it was his sudden realization of so that kept him from lunging forward and gouging it into the man’s back. “Fer dat, me thinks thi-“

“Enough.” 

What little noise remained in the room stopped. The men’s yelling, the drinking, the merriment and drinks sliding along the bar, the man’s wheezing between the miqo’te’s armored forearm-all of them, turned with watch and warrant towards the Elezen nearing the edge of the bar. 

Emilia, inebriated though she was, faltered and dropped her blade onto the wooden surface of said bar with a loud, awkward clang. “I-“

Ser Aymeric rounded his cold blue eyes on her, stopping her mid-sentence, then brought them back to the men surrounding. “You kind gentlemen will do well to go on your way. My comrade, here, will release your friend to the care of mine,” Lucia stepped forward from the crowd, moving between the man and to Emilia, reaching for him. She released the Elezen immediately, to which Lucia took him by his arm and shoulder and began marching him through the space left from her approach. 

Aymeric continued, “Should you have any objection, you may speak with the Holy See on the ‘morrow and beg that your display of public intoxication and disordinance be removed from your public records and your workman’s licenses to be reissued.” One of the men suddenly became aware of his predicament and began to speak up but the Lord Commander raised his hand in silence. “If you wish to state a grievance, you would do well to do it in the company of those who’ve not heard you state you wish to whore this woman before you.” 

The Lord Commander continued walking forward until he was between the Elezen men and the miqo’te standing atop the bar. In one swift movement, he brought his arm up and swept the woman down and into his chest, holding her so her head was resting against the platemail on his right shoulder. With a brisk turn, he placed a coin sack on the bar, stated it was for the “damages”, then walked through the crowd the way he’d entered.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2! I'm hoping to add a few more to finish out the story as I get time~ Hope you guys like it! <3

The armor-clad woman remained silent as the Elezen stepped out from the Foundation square and into the stairwell leading to the Pillars. Lucia and the awaiting guardsmen had left the duo upon their leave of the Knight, agreeing to update Alphinaud and Tataru of her where-about’s and well-being. Emilia, on the other hand, was a little too inebriated to connect what anyone had really said, to what her current situation was. She remembered being at the Forgotten Knight, she remembered being happy about the new drink specials they were offering in regard to the Winter Solstice, but what happened after that?

Aymeric had been there at some point, wait. She furrowed her brow, trying to picture what he’d looked like back in the tavern. He was mad, wasn’t he? Emilia looked up to the face of her carrier, again realizing that she was being carried and not walking, but her vision was a little too blurry to make out his expression. Or was that snowflakes? Wait, was it blood? 

“Emilia, please, try not to move too much.” The arms, which were anchored around the length of her torso and legs, suddenly tightened. Not uncomfortably, but she could feel she’d have difficulty if she strained any further. “I want Cydric to look over your wounds before we clean you up.” 

He was mad. This was his strained, political voice-the one he used when Estinein would argue with him, when a meeting with the Scions was interrupted for favor of the congregations request. In other words, he sounded…off.  
“Ah, L-Lord Commander,” Emilia lolled her head from the plate on Aymeric’s shoulder to that of the road they were now walking on-squinting for clarity. She recognized the shapes of the buildings and walkways as belonging to the strip near the Astrologicum, but she didn’t know this was a residential area, she always believed it to be storerooms or shops. “Is this her? Shall I prepare a bath?” 

Suddenly everything was warm. Emilia lolled her heard around again, trying to discern where they were, but everything just felt too hot and excruciatingly bright. “Yes, I’ll take her to my chambers. Bring Cydric so he may look over her wounds beforehand. At once, if you will.”

“Y-yes, Lord Commander.”

The miqo’te groaned, a deep pain was forming in the space between her eyes, heightening in sharpness the harder she tried to squint. Everything looked so blurred and fuzzy, uncomfortably so. She had been able to see at the Knight, she saw him come through the crowd after all, did something happen? “A-Ayyyyymeric,” the sound of his name came out as a long, uncontrollable slur-she also forgot the formality, however. Of that much she was, at least, aware. “E-er...L-Lord Commanderrrrr, I can’t see anything.”

“I know,” the muscles beneath her tensed, “I’m going to have my cleric look you over whilst a bath is drawn for you.” 

Emilia rolled her head from side-to-side, “D-did you tell Yvetterrr and D’veee too?”

Aymeric looked down at the miqo’te as he stepped through to the entrance of his bed chambers, “I’ll have Lucia alert them as well, were they expecting you?” 

“Hmmm,” Emilia let out a chuckle as she felt the arms beneath her loosen and allow her to lower into a standing position, wobbly though she was. Aymeric kept a firm hand hand between her shoulder blades, helping to support her swaying body. “I-I don’t thiiiiiiink so?” 

“Alright,” The Elezen before her breathed, she supposed it was a sigh, but it felt hot and sweet on her face. She tried looking around the room, at least to get an idea of her surroundings, but everything still felt blurry, or unfocused. The light here was less that before, maybe just a fireplace then? The hand that had been holding her steady a moment prior suddenly began to apply pressure at the back of her shoulders, clicking and tugging against her armor. She tried to turn and look at what was going on but the black-haired Elezen tucked a hand beneath her jaw, holding her. “Stay still, Emilia.” 

Her chest tightened at the closeness of Aymeric’s face. He was blurry, but if she tried hard enough, she could brush against his curled hair, or even touch his elongated ears. The breath from his command fell onto her face again, causing a sweltering heat to build under her cheeks. The Commander of the Temple Knights should not be standing here, in what she assumed was his chambers, trying to help the Warrior of Light out of her armor. The Lord Commander should also not have carried her or came to her aid, but he did that as well, much to her dismay. The...awkwardness of her situation was beginning to present itself to her, drunken or not.

From the beginning he had treated her differently than others in need had, there was a mutual respect for her craft, for her work, and he seemed to have kept that in mind during tasks he asked her to complete in Ishgard. Aymeric had, since the Scions had arrived in refuge, opened his home to them in a way no other nation, or patriarch, had. Emilia felt an immense weight of guilt settle in her stomach, it had been there previously, and she had a feeling it was partially to cause for her inebriated disposition, but this felt heavy-sobering, and cold.

His breath fell over her again honeyed and unbelievably distracting, “I’m going to remove some of your armor so they can look over your wounds, do you think you can explain to me what happened?”

The miqo’te could feel the pressure leave her face, a cool chill replacing the warmth prior, and return back to the latches along her shoulders. “L-Lord Commander I c-can do it,” her sentence came out as a long slur again, maybe a little more coherent than before, but drunken all the same, “I’ve caused you enough t-trouble *hicc* tonight and I-I am sorry for embarrassing you, a-and the Scions.” 

A clang came as her shoulder and bicep plate suddenly dropped from her arm, landing in a heap on the ground. The weight of the armors release against her tired body felt nice, relieving. The elezen’s bright, topaz eyes met hers with even, patient evaluation – though she couldn’t see them in detail, she could tell he was not having any of her retorts. “You can call me Aymeric, Emilia,” his voice was now more gentle, lower, and slightly twinged with humor, “I don’t address you as your title, nor have I ever bated you do so for myself.”

Emilia could feel her heart beginning to flutter, not in the normal, nervous way it’d done on any previous encounters she’d had with the Lord Commander, but more so in a tripping, falling fashion. She opened her mouth to speak, to state how titles meant power in this country, how she could never bring herself to bid him such in company of his guard, but was silenced by the entrance of another.

“Lord Commander,” a jaunty voice called, nearing as the plate on her adjacent arm fell. “You called for me?” 

“Yes,” the warmth that had been falling in steady breaths over her face left, again. “My comrade here was in a bit of a scuffle,” He cleared his throat, his voice sounded more distant now. “As you can see by the amount of blood, I was concerned about how she’d fare through the night. I wanted someone of a higher expertise to ensure nothing serious had happened, would you mind?”

The man began to walk forward, at least that’s what she assumed the silhouette was doing, her vision was still blurry. “It seems she was in quite an…ordeal. Did someone strike your head, madam?”

Emilia looked up, presumably where the man was now standing, and chuckled, “I think one of those g-guys did. But,” she laughed again, “but I-in my defense, he tried to cut off my tail.”

The man burst into loud, boisterous laughter, “Oh did he now?” Clinking glass suddenly came from her right-bottles? “Well, since you’re the one here, I assume you gave him what’s for then.”

“Hm, yes,” Ser Aymeric interjected, clearing his throat again, “She gave them quite a show. Moving on. Is there something I can help you do, deft as I may be in this field, Cydric?”

He paused, his laughter slowly dying, “If you’d like, Lord Commander, and if the lady doesn’t mind, I will need her chest plate and mail removed.” The strong smell of antiseptic began to fill the air, “These cuts seem to move towards her shoulders, so I want to make sure there isn’t any internal bleeding building around the ribs or lungs, we may yet need to allow them to drain.” 

Ser Aymeric nodded and moved back to Emilia’s side, despite her shaking head and protests. “I-I’m fine, reallyyy,” her speech was slowly becoming clearer, but he found the momentary lapses and dialect endearing, “I am a white mage, you knowww, I can take care of that stuff.” 

Cydric chuckled again as he began to work the cleansing liquid around the large gash on her forehead. She gasped at the chill of the cloth on her skin, but felt nothing once it began to work along her face. Gauging by the pain, whoever hit her must have stuck her near her right temple, just above her brow. “I’ve no doubt of your prowess, madam, but we insist.”

The Elezen grimaced and began to work the clasps on either side of the miqo’te’s ribs. All of her armor had been held in such a way that the tight, overlapping belts and cloth served as a mask to any openings in her chain mail, which was smart to have done considering how old and worn the latter looked. He unlatched the first series of belts, despite Emilia’s constant squirming and questions, revealing a large, freshly received gash along the right side of her ribcage. The mail surrounding this wound had also been torn and stained, but the wound itself continued further than the Lord Commander could see-his guess was this had happened before she’d adorned her current attire, but nonetheless, this was fresh. 

With a level of calm, he managed to keep that cool, knot of metallic acid from building in his stomach again. She’s the Warrior of Light, yes, but each time he sees her off from his office, each time she goes out into the ice and the danger and the inevitable wounds, he has to fight himself not to stop her and pull her back. To him, HE wanted to be the one to bear wounds such as this, he wanted to be on the battlefield, at least alongside her. At least there, in his sight, she could be sheltered from a blade, damn his shield or not. Aymeric swallowed and gazed back at the wound, “Emilia, how did this happen?”

The miqo’te huffed as Cydric placed another series of sanitized rags near her face, “Whaaat?”

Ser Aymeric continued unlatching the last of the chest plate and pulled it away, revealing the tattered, old chainmail beneath. He frowned and tossed the armor to the side, lifting her arm so she could see, “This,” he pointed, failing to keep the edge from his voice. This mail was rotted and, quite literally, hanging by a thread. This could barely protect against the wind, let alone a sword to her chest. He’d assured both her and the remaining Scions his resources were theirs for the taking – why, in the name of the Fury and all that’s bloody well, would she be so foolish as to adorn this? “This wound is fresh and was hidden beneath your armor, Emilia. I know those men didn’t do this to you, so who did?”

Emilia looked up to the black-haired man with slanted, mismatched eyes. She could see, now that the medic had cleaned the blood from her eyes and face, and boy was the Lord Commander angry. She hesitated and tried to pull away, at least to provide some space from the closeness of their bodies, but he reached out and stretched his arm against the door she stood in front of, cornering her. In truth the wound had happened the morning of, on a trip with D’ve and Yvette to Camp Dragonhead for a scouting mission. 

Tataru has been adamant about setting up relations with one of the postmaster moogles, especially with the Scions still being scattered to the wind. If any were alive, they needed to know the location of their remaining team, especially with Horizon being compromised. The party of three were sought to carry out a fake delivery, then trade a set of instructions to the moogle in turn for a set of supplies agreed to by Tataru the week prior. Simple enough, give instructions for the three nation’s leaders in return for supplies, the moogle delivers the instructions to his Pom-bearing friends in Gridania, then notice would be sent to Ishgard upon the observance of any Ascian or Scion activity. This had been all well and good, until the trio encountered a slight hiccup on their journey.

On their way to exchange, a group of bandits had jumped the small trio of adventurers. D’ve, following in the steps of his comrades had been training in the ways of the Dark Knight, thus was the first to initiate the oncoming group. Yvette, adept and fierce. followed closely with her bow - ensnaring those ranged with arrows that never missed their mark. Emilia had stayed near the back of the group, healing and attacking as needed, when she noticed, much too late, that she had become a target for the bandits lancer. The weapon had easily pierced through her healing robes, whom were unfit for the journey to begin with, delving deep into her side as Ser Aymeric had just noted. The wound was supposed to have been mended, her magicks had done well in keeping it contained after all, but she had meant to treat it further upon her return to Ishgard-after a few drinks, of course.

She shook her head, waving him off, “It’s from e-earlier in the week, it’s fieeeeene. I can take care of it.” 

Ser Aymeric knelt down and looked up to the cleric instead, “If you’d be so kind, Cydric, I’d have you look this one over as well, then that should be the last.” Emilia attempted to put her arm back down, but the Elezen reached up and tightened his grip on her- firm, but not painful. With a strong look, he gazed at her and calculated, gauging her reaction. “I’ll look her over myself later to ensure there’s nothing else to note, if so I’ll call for you again.” 

The miqo’te winced and looked away, her face flushing a bright shade of red.

————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

“What have I done...” Emilia huffed, glancing around the spacious washroom. The Lord Commander had left her to herself, allowing her time to prepare before her bath. He’d stated he’d be in shortly to help her, which she was terrified of to be honest, but he had promised it was simply to ensure she could be trusted to sit in the bath alone-especially with the head injury she now branded. 

Her vision had greatly improved, now that the blood had been washed from her eyes, but she wished it could have remained blurry for just a little longer. If so, then perhaps then she wouldn’t feel so bad about being in a place as exquisite as this, or with the company she had now insisting to take care of her-her, the Warrior of Light. The same Warrior who fought the Ascians and toppled Ultima, the same warrior who bonded the three great nations and founded a peace collective with her free company, the same one who’d been fighting dragons just this past week with her two best friends-yeah, that was supposed to be her. 

Emilia sighed again, everything spread out before her looked false, or too nice, as most things in Ishgard happened to be. The floors were a pearly, marbled white with black and gold speckled throughout each tile. The tub, which was the centerpiece of the room, matched the pearl of the floor, but lacked the black detailing-rather, it had golden claws and faucets, now dripping with warm, fresh water. The walls were not tiled or wooden, like most washrooms she’d been in, but rather painted, with entricate, detailed scrolls overlapping in that same gold and white, stark against the black foreground. 

A sink and a sealed door lined the wall to the direct opposite of her, along with a large window, but from this distance it was hard to tell what part of Ishgard the view was of. To her back lied the door she’d entered from and a large, equally white, marble bench. She’d used this to house her chainmail, undergarments, trousers, and boots, but felt doubly guilty about looking them over now. They looked out of place, dirty and grotesque to the elegance the rest of the room presented, but she supposed that’s how it would be. She is an adventurer-she would be out of place in this lifestyle, it wasn’t for her. Her place was a battlefield, an enemy with immense power and an agenda for destroying those too weak to defend themselves, not comfort and gold – that was for politics, which she detested. 

There was a firm knock at the door. “Emilia, may I come in?” The miqo’te tightened her arms around the plush white towel now covering her torso. It was revealing, much too revealing considering her title, and the one asking to enter. She took in a deep breath and exhaled shakily. Her ale was beginning to wear off, and much too fast at that. 

“Y-yes.” She, too, looked out of place against the honorifics of the room. 

The large wooden door opened and the familiar Elezen strode inside, stopping just beyond the edge of the bench. Emilia gazed upwards at the stark height difference that now stood before her, nervous wires tightening in her stomach at the realization of how his frame actually compared to that of hers. His pale blue eyes widened as they swept the room and met with her discolored ones, “A-Ah.” A bright shade of pink began color his cheeks as he spoke, “I was worried you’d try to do everything yourself, but I see you found everything you needed then,” his voice trailed off as he lowered his gaze.

Emilia began to fidget with the pieces of towel she had clasped in her hands. Her skin immediately caught with embarrassed heat when she realized he was staring down at her, inspecting. “Y-yes Lord Commander, I-I did, thank you for being so kind.” 

Aymeric looked up, amused, “Kind?”

The miqo’te’s ears flattened full against her head, her cheeks now burning hot. Apparently the drunkenness was still running its course. She wasn’t good with these things-why’d it have to be him of all people to fetch her from the bar? She could have dealt with Yvette’s scolding or D’ve’s concern- not...this. “A...ah, yes. You are nice person, you...help.”

Ser Aymeric smiled wide and straightened himself, taking a few steps towards the Warrior of Light. “I appreciate the flattery from one such as yourself, Emilia,” The mages tail flicked back and forth slowly, mismatched eyes watching as he began to draw closer, “But…I’ve bid you that you may call me by my name, why is it that you insist otherwise?”

“I-“ Emilia watched in fascination as the Elezen closed the space between where the door began and where she stood. He towered above her, the tips of her ears just coming to the middle of his chest. With steeled resolve, she kept her face lowered, too ashamed of her appearance and situation to meet his eyes. 

It was different when she was with Alphinaud or Tataru, when they were in the safety of his office or standing apart, but this…this was close; this was his room, his home, of which he opened for someone he didn’t truly know. This was him extending a hand, a hand which no one had done to her before, to learn more about her, to hear her and assist her. To help her, she who was not able to do it for herself, because he saw something else beyond that of a title, of what everyone else presumed her to be. In truth, it made her angry. 

She furrowed her brow and managed to raise her glance to his shoulders, but couldn’t go any further. During her time in this washroom he had apparently changed from his normal dress, well, his “commander” attire. Rather than the scaled robes and plates he dawned a medium black, button-down tunic, form-fitting and adorned with intricate gold and blue weaving, yet open at the collar. The cuffs on his sleeves were undone, which she found interesting, since his sleeves normally concealed his hands and forearms. He wore simple pants, also black, and no shoes. “I think...” She swallowed, trying hard to push images of his exposed skin from her forethoughts. How difficult would it be to reach him, being his height? “I-I don’t know.” 

Ser Aymeric burst into happy laughter, smiling down at the dazed miqo’te. It was a sweet, low sound that rumbled in her ears, heating her cheeks. “You can insist on calling me what’s comfortable for you, Emilia. I just hope that here, in this home, you feel you may trust me as such.” He dipped down and looked her in the eye, patting a long hand upon the top of her head. “I...well, we have time to discuss politics later. For now, why don’t we try cleaning you up?”

Emilia’s eyes suddenly blew open, her ears perked, stunned, “W-W-wait j-just a minute-“

Aymeric had already lowered to his knees, now sitting even with that of her collarbone and still, slightly lowered, face. She closed her eyes and moved backwards a step, suddenly burning from head to toe. His icy blue eyes watched her, still clearly amused by her behavior, but he didn’t make move to grasp or follow. This close to her, in such a personal manner, he felt it would be too much for her to handle if he could freely do as he wanted, especially after the recent turn of events. “What is it?”

“I-I...” Emilia wrapped her arms strongly around her towel, shaking her head from side to side. It made her vertigo worsen, but at this point she was too embarrassed to care. Everything smelled of sweetness, or of indulgence, even his scent had that distinctive smoky, coffeed tinge to it. He may be asking for her trust, but this was too...intense. She’d come here on accord of Haurchefaunt, she’d come here as a Scion. Now, here in this moment, she was here as a drunken, battered excuse for a hero who couldn’t say no when she was offered the glass. At least now, when she had enough sense to actually pace herself, she would hold onto at least a small amount of her own dignity, whatever that entailed. In short, she would not have a leader of a free country bathe her like a child. “I-I can do it myself.” 

The elezen laughed, this time deeper than the last. From this distance the sweetness had subsided from Emilia’s immediate senses, at least enough for her to regain her metaphorical footing. Aymeric slowly removed himself from the floor, but he was careful to remain in his spot once grounded, “Will you allow me a compromise then, Warrior of Light?” 

The miqo’te’s ears twitched, but she kept her head low. His attitude and tone had shifted-darkened, slightly, though that could have been a play of the eye. “That depends on how diplomatic your compromise is, Commander.” 

Aymeric’s smile warmed as he stretched his hand out to her, careful, again, to keep his feet rooted. “I will be forefront with you then: will you allow me this evening?”

Emilia looked up at him now, surprised and scrutinizing. This felt...strange. Everything felt too...different. Aymeric seemed serious, but it was as if the banter has taken a turn into something of a different meaning. Just what did he mean by the evening? Her? Did he just want an evening with her, as a patron, or as a lover? She felt dizzy. Perhaps this was a dream, some twisted, ale infused delusion, “Exc-“

He continued before she could interject further, “Allow me to care for you while you are injured, Emilia. Allow me to assist you, allow me to have the honor of aiding you while I can, away from their eye.” Her eyes stayed glued to him with ever widening lids, despite his gesture to the window outside. “I’ve taken the liberty of alerting those necessary of your location, but others have been removed from this premises. I wish to have you away from your guards, away from the people and the needs of everyone else. I wish to be here while you are like this, I want to learn more of you, thus…I’m emploring for you to let me help you.” The heat that had built from head to toe now grew and nestled just below that of her ribs, aching familiarly and burning hotly. He took a step towards her, lowering his arms slightly, but his eyes held hers and challenged her. “Let me indulge you, let me show to you who I am aside from a title, Warrior of Light. Let me earn your trust, politics and formality aside.”

And then there was silence.

Aymeric’s eyes didn’t waver, they stayed strong and vibrant, searching her face for an answer. Emilia, on the other hand, felt like the Ul’Dahn desert had taken hold of her mouth. No sound could come out, just open-agape awe at the strength and depth of his statement. 

Of course he knew what he was saying, this was a man who had built himself from an unsavory title into that of one everyone cherished, who everyone sought for for protection, guidance, based on the flexibility of his tongue. This man held the power of politics, elegance, and the word of war better than that of his blued blade, and that he definitely knew. What’s more, is that he was also one of the most desirable, luxurious, and intelligent men she had ever had the pleasure of working with, especially for any length of time, and he had just offered his hand to her. 

The elezen was still standing, arms slightly outstretched, silently waiting for a response. She bit into her lower lip, drawing a small trickle of blood down her chin. Like this, here-and at this point she didn’t know how much of the drink or her depression was talking-she would have ran into him and knocked him on the floor. She would have gripped handfuls of his luscious, sweet-smelling hair and tangled her fingers in it until he was taught against his own tiled floor. She would have explored his face, if only to just look at it closely, and she would have kissed his soft, wide lips. She would have put everything there, her heart, her past, her hatred-she would put it all there for him to see and she would drink full his glass of trust, she really would. Then, when she’d had her fill, as she had with others who’d thrown themselves in her path, she’d take it away, and she’d leave. It was simple, as those in her tribe tried to tell her throughout her life. She’d have her fill, and business would resume, as always. Other patrons had extended to he, similarly enough, his same promise, but each time it would leave her feeling empty, ashamed, and agonizingly alone. She would do it, regardless of how she knew the outcome would be, because however temporary, at least someone was there the help swallow the searing pain that’d seeped through the cracks of her visage. It’s always been this way. Hero’s are made for helping others, not themselves-happiness was an emotion saved for those rejoicing life, not one walking the thread of it. “Emilia?”

She was broken from her bravado, now gazing back into his watching, pale blue eyes, “Just tonight.” He assured, “If you feel at any moment that you cannot bear with me, then I will remove myself from any other encounters we may have, professional or…” He measured her, choosing his words before continuing, “…not. As you are, here in this room and in my home, I wish to be the one that you can rely on.” 

With a frustrated, shaken voice, she sighed, “When I was told of the Holy See, they spoke of a leader whom had silver laced on his tongue. Now I know that to be truth.” Her eyes met his again, this time stronger and more settled, if slightly annoyed as well. She’d play along, at least for awhile, but she wouldn’t stay. In a way, she felt he knew that, but it didn’t stop her words nonetheless. “I’ll allow you to help me, A-Aymeric, but...my compromise is that you’ll have your eyes closed if you do.” 

A wide, boyish smile filled his handsome face, making him seem ripe to laughter. “As you wish.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HOPE to add one more chapter, one with a little more...sauce, but if you don't enjoy that sort of thing, I wanted to be able to write an ending (which reads naturally as the bottom of this chapter) for those who don't. So, in other words, I hope it doesn't come across as too forced. >___>" 
> 
> The final chapter will follow soon enough, but I want to thank all of you for the kind Kudos and support :D As I said, I'm not a writer, but I've enjoyed doing this in my spare time from school. 
> 
> Here's a little saucy sauce before the main course.....>U>

She took a hard, full breath and looked him in the eye, watching for any flinch of movement. “You swear you’ll keep them closed?”

Ser Aymeric’s smile didn’t falter in the slightest, instead it pulled higher-almost in a smirk. “I swear upon the honor of the Knights Most Heavenly, Emilia, I will not look.”   
  
The miqo’te stared him down for another moment or two, then sighed. The glint in his eye wasn’t fading, and with his personality-what she knew of it anyway-he wouldn’t do anything too…brash. “Fine. I’m taking the towel off and I’m going to step into the water.” With his eyes closed he could hear the slight waver of nerves in her voice. It was endearing, imagining how flustered she looked right now, “I-I’ll give you word when I’m in, so you can look long enough to walk over, but you better close them again.”   
  
He nodded and placed his hands over his face for added measure. “On your warrant, Emilia.” The coils that had been tightening in his stomach filled with excitement and warmth. Here, in this lighting, she looked more radiant than he had ever seen her. She was injured, tired, but the cadence of her-the sight of her embarrassed and shy, as opposed to her normal stoniness, made his heart swell to uncomfortable measure. She could put on such a strong sense of bravado, especially when she had those to protect, and audience, but here-he felt he was moving past those walls, seeing the real her.   
  
Emilia watched his covered face closely, looking for any moving fingers or slack palms. Upon previous encounters, the few she ever afforded herself, men would take up the chance to sneak a look at a woman-especially if they were granted an occasion such as this. Maybe even more than look, considering how weak she must look right now. The elezen, however, was unbelievably still. He still adorned his elegant smile, which was unnerving her, but overall, he was collected, relaxed even.   
  
She grimaced as she looked down at her towel, at her body. Her skin had paled, more so than it was already, but from a medic’s eye it was due to her blood loss and perhaps even lack of sleep-though, to be honest, the drinking probably didn’t help either. Scars were prominent, especially on her hands, but small lacings of color stood out on her ribs, along her legs or shoulders-and in a way, she felt ashamed. Embarrassed because standing before her was this elegant, tasteful lord and here she was-tattered, beaten, and fresh from more than a few scuffles. Her mind wandered to those who he had probably been with before, what they must have looked like compared to himself, or her, the elegance and grace they possessed. “Emilia?”   
  
Shocked, she looked up, grasping at her towel. Ser Aymeric still stood, unmoving with his face covered, but his brow was knotted in concern, “Is something the matter? Do you need any assistance?”   
  
She swallowed as she looked at her chest, “I-I’m fine,” The mark along her ribs had been sealed, rather than stitched, so blood loss or infection was no longer an issue, but the bruising was still very prominent, moving from her right down towards her stomach, just below her breast. Lords and Ladies wouldn’t adorn flesh like this-not this beaten, not in their lives of comfort. She was reminded of her stature, who she was. Hero’s don’t have pleasantries-he shouldn’t be here, she should be back in the bar, back in her barracks, trying to prepare for the ‘morrow. “I-I just needed a moment.”

“On your warrant then,” He smiled, his face relaxing, “I apologize for hastening you.” 

Slowly, and with a twinge of reluctance, she released her grip on the plush towel. Her heart felt like it was hammering against her ribs, beating and beating as if it’d meant to break them. Gathering herself, Emilia swiftly folded the cloth and placed it at the base of the steps leading to the bath. Wobbly, she then turned and made her way over the marbled floor to the elevated washing area. Comfortable, warm steam rose up from the bubble-filled tub, the scent of florals inviting to her nose.   
  
A disturbance of water came from before him, followed by a slight sigh. “O-Okay, I’m in the bath,” Again, her voice wavered, “You can walk over now...N-No looking in the tub though.”   
  
The Lord Commander slowly opened his eyes and gazed at the path to his porcelain bath. Her towel was laid neatly by his feet, folded by three and left just on his left. Looking up, he could see the top of her soft, pointed ears and hair sticking out from the rim on the tub. Her arms were folded tightly around her legs, which were pulled closely against the flush of her chest, and her chin rested just above them.   
  
The tightening in his stomach began again, this time filled with curiosity and something slightly more opaque. Absently, as he picked up the towel and began to walk towards her, he wondered just how much of her skin had been coated in scars, and to what extent did they stretch. A step further, and he was wondering how they’d feel beneath his fingers.   
  
Would she still hurt from them?   
  
Aymeric had inspected her when he’d initially entered the washroom. In previous encounters with the Warrior of Light, the only noticeable ones he’d taken note of were those born on her fingers. Her face didn’t adorn any, and most of the time, she came bearing full armor-metal or cloth-that concealed her from the neck down to her wrists. In this lighting, however, and be it the particular circumstance, he was shocked by the amounts of asymmetrical patterns she bore upon her skin. She was pale to begin with, he’d recalled, but these scars were arrays of misshapen whites or purples, some even scattered over each other, light lightning. Clear indications of burns, or large lesions, were evident on her arms, especially her legs or back. His mind began to wander once more, contemplating how they’d appeared in some places to begin with, but he didn’t think he had the control to ask her about them right now.   
  
He cleared his throat.   
  
As the elezen approached the edge of the tub, he caught glimpses of her long, fluffy brown tail swirling in the water, mixing the bubbles the maid had placed in for her. The scene would almost make him chuckle, if not for the look she continued to watch him with. His stomach warmed at the darkening of her cheeks, “My next instructions are...?”   
  
He asked, still smiling. She looked away from him then, staring down at her protruding knees. He could see the color of her skin begin to spread down her neck to her collarbone-the flush looked nice against her snowy skin. Dignantly, she cleared her throat, “I-I guess you can help me wash my hair, if you’re still wanting to assist me.”   
  
“My pleasure,” he took up a small stool from the basin’s left and placed it directly behind her head, taking a seat just so. The tightening in his stomach felt coiled, elastic-not metallic like it was in the bar, but warm and distracting. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had made him feel this...discomposed.   
  
Well, the Fury knew, she had.   
  
_When he’d first met Emilia, when she’d strode into the room at Intercessory wounded, scared, and angry-Halone and her army help him, she looked divine. Snow covered hair, which stuck out amongst the streaks of white pointing from her brown ears and curls. She’d adorned long, equally white, robes-seared with red streaks prominent to the White Mage sigil, and staff equally long upon her back. Haurchefant had warned him of the Warrior of Light, how she was hard to open up, how she was strong as equal as she was kind, fierce-Alphinaud had similarly done that same, so had his research, but none prepared him for this. All he could find in him to do was smile, “Speaking of reputations, yours towers above us all, does it not?”_  
  
 _Emilia had scoffed, but politely bowed to him, the curls on her left shoulder falling forward as she did so. “You speak kindly, Lord Commander, ‘tis an honor to have an audience with one such as yourself.”_  
  
 _“I am none too proud to admit that I have followed your activities with an interest bordering on fascination, Warrior of Light,” He’d offered her coffee then, an espresso mixture common to those in the Holy See to help bite off the winter’s chill, a personal favorite. “Full glad was I to learn that you would be joining us this day.”_   
  
With a breath, he hesitantly reached forward and grasped hold of her brown and white hair, pulling the curled strands back to rest behind her head. As his fingers brushed along her neck, he could see her eyes squint and her grip on her legs tighten. She didn’t say anything, but the skin on her shoulders and that leading upwards to her jaw pebbled into goose flesh-despite the heat radiating from the water. By the Fury, he was glad to have been the one to find her.   
  
A flush of desire made his stomach tighten again. He tried pushing aside the thoughts of her skin, how she’d react be it was his lips rather than his hands brushing her neck. “Is the water too cold?”   
  
Slowly, he grasped at a strand of hair stuck flush against her cheek, bringing it back to group with the rest. This time her breath caught just as his fingers grazed that of her jaw, but the remainder of her seemed calm otherwise. Once he’d grouped this piece, she’d nestled back into her tight ball, submerged just beneath the soapy water’s surface-her voice was the only thing that’d seemed discomposed. “T-The water is comfortable.”   
  
He smiled.   
  
Seeing how flustered she was gave him a horrible feeling of hope-agonizing, burning. He couldn’t see what she was thinking, but Fury help him, he hoped that she’d enjoyed him being the one here with her. Despite the winter they’d shared working alongside of each other, he held _hope_ that she was desiring the same as he. He couldn’t help but imagine the other times he’d wished he could touch her face, or wrap his fingers into her hair. Aymeric had thought of it, almost entertained his own notions a time or two, but they’d ended with him simply patting the top of her head, or gently holding her shoulder-an audience was never the best company for these things. “When you say to wash your hair,” he had to swallow a chuckle. Him, teasing the warrior of light, as if…they, “Would that happen to include your tail and ears?”   
  
It took her a moment to respond, but with a huff Emilia buried her head into her legs and arms, pulling her hair loose and refusing to look up. Her heart had been hammering before, but now it was full to thrashing against her chest-at this point, she was convinced he could hear it, she could all too well. “I can do that much m-myself,” her voice was muffled against her skin, “I just can’t reach behind my head!”   
  
Aymeric grinned, delighted, and reached forward to grasp her hair once more, this time with more apprehension than the previous. He wanted to see her skin flush, at least one more time. If this was as far as this moment could go, if she didn’t feel the same as he, at least he could savor this to himself on some other occasion. “I find myself curious,” He leaned forward, resting his elbows along the edges of the porcelain bath. Aymeric’s own blackened curls fell just below his eyes and nose as his lips brushed the edge of Emilia’s lowered right ear, “Do they always tuck when you’re embarrassed, _Warrior of Light_?”   
  
The miqo’te raised her head and began a reply, but his hands suddenly reached her skin and she froze. Calloused, strong fingers slid gently from the edges of her jaw just to the hollows near each side of her throat. Strands of her hair, too long or short to be grounded with the others, pulled as his hands enter-laced and tightened at the nape of her neck, grasping the length of her hair completely. “If so,” he chuckled lightly, nudging her ear with his nose. “I’d be interested to know just how many times that’d happened in my company.”   
  
With effort, Emilia clamped down on her lower lip and released a slow, measured breath. Where he had touched she could feel his fingers lingering, burning, despite the ease with which they’d glided over her wetted skin. Like before, his breath fell over her like honey, sweet and warm against the back of her head. The mixture of heat from his actual touch and the coolness she felt now that his fingers had retreated left her feeling a little...confused.   
  
She hadn’t seen this side of Aymeric. He’d said he wanted her to trust him, _indulge_ him even, but again, she was at a loss for what that entailed. Conversation? Of course, he would litter his dialogue with occasional flattery, it was in his nature it seemed, but he’d never been this brash, or this mischievous. The farthest she’d encountered with the Lord Commander was perhaps grabbing her shoulder to relay something he’d forgotten, but he’d never touched her this…gently. And therein was her bewilderment.   
  
Emilia straightened herself and made conscious effort into raising her ears. It was true, embarrassment, among many things, would make a miqo’te’s ears flatten along their head. If she could concentrate hard enough, however, she could keep them pointed, or at least angled, such to keep him from noticing. “’Tis unfair for you to assume I react like this only in your syndicate, _Commander_.”   
  
Aymeric released a deliberate sigh as he leaned back from her head. If she had shivered, or so much as inclined to him, he would have done it. He would have grabbed her face and claimed her, right there in the water, titles and consequences be damned. His chest and stomach were aching to have her, to at least taste the alcohol she still had on her breath-had she only had brandy and ale? Did she enjoy whiskey’s as much as he, or did she prefer stouts? “Ah, mine apologies then,” He chuckled, “I didn’t mean to embarrass you, Emilia.”   
  
She lowered her head, but not so much as to pull her hair from his grasp. It’d been too long since she’d bantered with anyone, it just wasn’t something she’d do, not unless it was D’ve or Yvette. “I-I jest, Ser Aymeric.”   
  
He leaned alongside the tub and grabbed a bottle of his own shampoo, smiling with the knowledge that she’d at least leave smelling like him, “I as well.”   
  
Emilia made move to look up at him, her eyes wide, but his large hand reached up along her cheek, pointing her head forward. “I speak from experience when I say, you may want to remain still.” He leaned forward again, this time against her left, “It’s been eons since I’ve helped a woman with her hair and though my mother would say I would perform well, pray, I may be out of practice.”   
  
She didn’t flinch this time, but her ears did lower against her head, much to the Lord Commander’s amusement. “S-sorry,” She blushed. Cool, purple gel fell from the outstretched bottle and forward into a dollop on the miqo’te’s head, pooling just around her ears and forehead. She looked up, vainly trying to watch, but couldn’t manage to see more than her own brow. “You mentioned…Your mother?”   
  
“Hm, yes,” Aymeric removed his hand and began weaving his fingers through the balm, down throughout the length of her hair. He didn’t think it possible but with her hair slicked back, away from her face, Emilia looked even more luminous-truly a Daughter of Hydaelyn. Often, she’d have the right of her forehead, just above her golden colored eye, covered with bangs both brown and white. He didn’t exactly know the reason, but this carefully obscured the markings she bore above each eye, whom were similar to those on her cheeks. Gently, he began weaving his fingers into small circles on her head, scratching her scalp and causing bubbles to form between. “When I was younger, my mother would often have me help with her hair as well.”   
  
“Oh,” Emilia mused. The tension in her shoulders relaxed slightly, “W-Was she like you, if I may be so bold?” The elezen smiled fondly, knitting his hands just to the sides of the miqo’te’s head. Tenderly, he pressed his fingers in, applying pressure as he moved between her temples and back to the crown of her head. “You may.” Emilia smiled lightly, “Her hair was like mine, if memory serves me, longer but dark as well. While she was locked amongst the temple, I would often visit her to…” His voice lowered slightly, remembering. “…Sometimes bring her my latest readings, be it she was strong enough that day to read with me.”   
  
The atmosphere changed then, cooled.   
Emilia had never heard of him speak of his family; she’d known he was a bastard son, but his father was still that of Thordin in the Congregate, a name not to be taken lightly in Ishgard. She knew he struggled and fought for his position, that he worked himself to the bone and shed the safety of his shield for sacrifices of those in the Foundation. Estinein had shared little with her troupe of his past, but the two had grown up together, fought together.   
  
The Warrior swallowed and turned, covering herself just below the lip of the water. Holding herself up with her left, hesitantly, she reached out and placed her right on his cheek, water spilling like throughs down his and jaw. Her thumb brushed below his eyes, pale blue and burning into her, staring. She almost pulled back, scared he’d find her advance out of place, but his skin was so soft, inviting, if she could, she’d- “E-Emilia, wh-”   
  
“I want…to ask what you meant.” She rasped, furrowing her brow. Her cheeks, red before, were burning beneath her skin-her throat dry, anxious. “I want…to understand.”   
  
Aymeric leaned into her hand, placing his own along her wrist, turning it. His lips, slightly opened, burned and brushed along the inside of her palm. She gasped, shocked by how warm his mouth felt against her cool, wet skin. “I told you…” He continued to stare at her, his eyes dark, glowing against the brightness of the room. Her heart felt close to burst, aching and hoping, stinging to the point her breath burned, hot. “I want you, Emilia. Let me be the one to indulge you.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there's MINIMAL sauce in this little addition to the chapter, but the next one (I swear) has wayyyyy more...it's why it's taking me so long to write D": I'm 3387 words in and I'm still not to the juicy bits...literally...UwU
> 
> I'm currently moving and attending a conference, so the FINAL chapter may take a hot minute to write and upload, but I hope you guys enjoy this little baby sauce in the meantime ;D 
> 
> ALSO
> 
> Thank you again for the lovely support and kind words, it really means a lot! : D I'm hoping to write a villain Aymeric and Dark Kight lvl 80 quest Sidguru fiction after this is finished, so I hope you'll look forward to those as well!

Aymeric held a steady breath as he kicked back the last of his glass of brandy, then sighed as the burning, caramel liquid swallowed into a warm, sweltering sensation down his throat. He looked down at the glass, licking the remnants from his lips, and poured equal measure from the bottle into two hot glasses of Ishgardian coffee.

Warm smells of spices and earthy, rustic aromas filled his nose as the mixtures collided, sweetening the air. He’d always loved the smell of coffee; it was the one drink he craved to bring him awake in the mornings. It was nostalgic, warm.

In both goblets he additionally added a few scoops of sugar, cream, and dark chocolate, finishing both with two curled orange peels and a pillow of whipped cream. He smiled happily, proud of his creations, and placed them on a platter. To it, he added a handful of assorted snacks; pastries, chocolates, cookies, and a few fruits.

Content, the elezen strode through the latter half of his kitchen, large and strangely empty, then sauntered down the hallway back to his chambers. He knew the champion of Eorzea enjoyed coffee, perhaps more than he, but he wasn’t sure on her taste in food; at least with some of these sweets they complemented his beverage of choice, allowing her ample opportunity to find something she’d relish.

_The mage before him looked down at her goblet, smelling and inspecting. Her nose had scrunched, but the look of curiosity written on her face could almost make him laugh. The Warrior of Light, sniffing her coffee._

_“It’s an Ishgardian specialty,” Aymeric chimed, lifting his own glass, “You and your companions have been out in Coerthas for some time. I felt if we were to discuss politics, then something to warm your spirits might do best to prequel our conversations.”_

_Alphinaud smiled thoughtfully, and tipped his glass to the Commander, “And we thank you, Ser Aymeric. To negotiations.”_

_“To negotiations,” He replied, and both took a drink._

_Emilia watched, looking to Alphinaud for any signs, any reaction. When she found none other than pleasant nods, she then followed suit with both-tipping her glass back and drinking down the liquid. Ser Aymeric remembered her reaction perfectly, how red her cheeks had flushed, how her ears had perked and almost…wiggled, how the cream from the top of the drink stuck to the frame of her lips and nose._

The Lord Commander fought his smile as he entered through the doors to his room; even then, even when he’d first met her, he’d been enthralled by Eorzea’s Champion. She always had such interesting reactions-amusing, genuine, he just…he was selfish in some ways, he mused. He always wanted to see more.

With a manner of grace, Aymeric placed the platter of food over in his left, pulling the wooden doors closed behind him with his right. When he began down the stairs from his foyer, he was surprised to see the Warrior of Light curled up before his hearth. She’d adorned one of his shirts, much like the black one he wore now, but lighter and grey. On her body it looked large, about twice as long as it should be-much to his bemusement-with sleeves that extended well past where her fingers now laid curled on her thighs. Mentally, he thanked the Fury that she’d been unprepared to stay, thus he could savor in this moment, grant the knowledge she was wearing his clothes.

Her sharp eyes and soft skin reflected the glow of the fire, lighting her features such that she looked calm, almost asleep, save for her stare. She’d wrapped her long, fluffy tail around her legs, which were folded over each other in a traditional sitting posture. She’d taken to one of the pants he’d left her, almost a pair of tights, but on her they looked baggy, loose, and incredibly long.

“I see you’ve finished then?” With a clearing of his throat, he crested the bottom of the staircase and made his way over to said stone hearth.

Emilia looked up at him, her ears flickering at the sound of his voice. Two large goblets protruded from the edge of the platter in his hands, various cookies and chocolates balanced alongside each. She could feel a blush creeping along her cheeks, thinking back to her actions in the wash room.

_“I want you, Emilia.” His lips inched closer to her wrist, closing in on the veins just below her palm, “Let me be the one to indulge you.”_

With a quick turn of her head, she began staring back at the fire. How could she have been such a child? She didn’t know what compelled her to have been so brash, she would never have done what she’d done otherwise, never have reached out to him. Despite wanting to, despite how smooth and strong his skin had felt; but she did, she did it and now the awkward solace of her actions hung in the air like fog, confusing her.

It wasn’t as if her actions had been taboo, the elezen hadn’t pushed her away. He responded; in fact, it was all she’d had on her mind as she’d finished her bath.

_“Mine apologies, Emilia,” Ser Aymeric smiled as he released her arm, placing it back upon the lip of the tub. He’d closed his eyes again, removing himself from the bench previously behind her. “I needn’t have been so forward. I’ll leave you to continue in peace. If you should need me, simply call.”_

She’d had a response in mind, almost voiced it, but found her mouth frozen and dry. What would she have said regardless; stay, I want to know what that means? I’ve never had anyone-strangers don’t bare kindness and the road to peace is lonely and cold. I tire of being this savior to mankind; stay, distract me a little longer?

“Emilia?” The elezen commander chuckled as she turned to him again-cheeks bright, eyes wide. “How are you feeling?”

He leaned down beside her, placing their tray of snacks before the lip of the hearth. With one motion, he folded his long legs and fell into place alongside her right, leaning back against the rugs with one propped elbow. Emilia watched as he breathed, the slight rise and fall of his chest. As he’d relaxed against his arm, the collar of his shirt expanded and fell, exposing some of his neck and muscle. It was extremely addling; him, being this close, and how the glow of the fire reflected against his warm skin.

“I-I’m alright,” She bit her lip and tore her gaze away, distracting herself with the full spread of pastries and sweets, her mouth watering; when had she last eaten? “These look delicious.”

He laughed fully now, sweet, deep. “I’m glad you think so,” The elezen reached before her and extended one of the goblets, still remaining propped by his elbow. “Regrettably, I don’t know your favorites, but I prepared an assortment for you to try.”

Emilia’s face felt hot, almost overly warm.  
Shakily, she took the goblet from him, pulling the long sleeves of her shirt back to do so. As she moved, the cream on the top of her glass wobbled and sloshed against the edges, almost sinking her orange atop, but she looked back to the tray-nodding. “T-that was overly kind of you, Ser Aymeric,” She lowered the glass down to her thighs, “You needn’t have gone to all of the trouble.”

“’Twas a labor I take pleasure in,” Without pause, he grabbed his own glass and tilted it back against his mouth. When he looked back to her, smiling, he had a small remnants of cream stuck just to the edges of his lips.

“A-ah,” Shyly, the miqo’te gestured to the corner of her mouth, using hers as an example to guide him to the residue on his face. She couldn’t help but smile at how childishly he reacted to this, pointing upwards at his own in return. She nodded, chuckling, and pointed again to her own mouth, right where the cream would be, be it was her face rather than his. “You have a little…”

Her laugh warmed him, reaching deep and burning nearly as hot as the brandy had down his throat, coiling in his chest. The elezen nodded in return, placed his glass on the platter, and reached his fingers up to swipe it away. Much to her surprise, however, he met her gaze, flicked out his tongue, and ran it along the length of his index finger, lapping the cream up into his mouth. “Hmm,” He smiled, just as warm as before, but mischievous now, “Delicious, if I may be so bold.”

Aymeric took great pleasure in her embarrassed reaction; her bright cheeks, how she darted her eyes down to his tongue, his eyes. Since, she’d made special care to hold gaze with her own beverage; gauging by her heavy breath and flushed skin, however, he’d managed to achieve what he’d hoped in the moment. “Did I happen to remove what you had been pointing at, Emilia?” He asked, leaning into her.

Her ears flicked again, lowering down to her head. “Y-” She stammered, closing her eyes, “Y-Yes.”

Halone help him.

“Are you sure? You looked away so quickly,” He reached across and laced his fingers through hers, just around the goblet’s handle. Her soft skin felt callous, despite the proximity of the fire, but he relished in how small her hands were compared to his-how slight, elegant. “Why don’t you try?”

Leading her, he lifted the glass to the miqo’te’s face and grinned, reassuring. Emilia bit her lip, a gesture which had him almost reeling, and turned her head, opening and locking eyes with his. Every nerve in his skin felt like fire and cool water; fluid, hot, and alive under her gaze. “I-I’m not particularly thirsty.”

He moved the glass closer to her lips, almost so that the cream atop could graze her skin. “I think you’ll enjoy this,” The elezen’s voice had become sweeter, lower-like dark honey and smoked tea. “At least a taste.”

After a moment of silence, she sighed. It was quiet, but the resolve was there nonetheless: a taste couldn’t hurt.

Gingerly, she leaned into their hands, placing the brim just between her lips. Pillowed, aerated cream greeted her as Aymeric lifted the goblet, allowing the liquid to tip up into her opened mouth. Sweet swirls of citrus broke into warm, caramelized coffee-rustic and strong-but burned on her tongue and throat with the familiarity of warmth. Numbing, lacing malt filled her senses as she swallowed, drinking down as much as she could.

The elezen watched, fascinated, as her throat bobbed-swallowing eagerly. The sight, though innocent enough, made his stomach twist into knots of uncomfortable, aching desire.

She had reciprocated in the bath, at least in the moment. There, her fingers-calloused but small, firm-stroking his face and watching, waiting to be there, gave him sickeningly sweet hope. Here, hope wasn’t enough. He needed to push her to an edge and have her speak it clearly-verify his feelings, before he acted upon them himself. “More?” he rasped, cursing himself for how thick his voice sounded in his ears.

She didn’t falter, however; she simply began pulling against his hand, taking control of the glass and tipping it further into her face. He chuckled, distracting himself, and removed his fingers from hers, bringing his own back to rest against his stomach.

_“This is delicious,” She declared, looking to Alphinaud._

_The white-haired child chuckled and nodded in agreement, placing his glass back on the table. “Indeed, full glad are we to indulge in such pleasantries.” Such would be what manners would dictate; drink with the toast, then sip as needed throughout conversation. Emilia followed this, normally, but in the moment her bones ached, and she was tired-with the upcoming politics and planning to discuss, the only solace she had was this drink._

_“I’m fully glad to know you enjoy our customs,” Aymeric laughed, placing his own goblet upon the table. He looked to the Warrior of Light, “‘Tis our pleasure to have your company, and cooperation.”_

_The miqo’te sighed upon drinking up the last of her own, the heat and sweetness filling her belly and warming her limbs. “The pleasure is mine.”_

With a gasp, Emilia brought the glass down, hard, on her lap. Cream and small remnants of chocolate colored her lips and chin, spraying as she began to cough. After a moment, she huffed, her head wobbling and dizzy. “E-Emilia,” Ser Aymeric’s hand was on her shoulder then, firm and holding her such that she couldn’t fall over, even though she really wanted to. His voice was full of concern, “Are you alright?”

She gripped onto her chest with one hand, fighting hard to breathe full the air she had trapped between both her throat and the last of her drink. She swallowed, eyes squinting, “I-I’m fine,” a cough, “I just drank too quickly.”

The elezen pulled himself up and sat, fully facing her now, and sighed. “I should have stopped you, mine apologies,” He reached forward and tucked his hand beneath her chin, “Can you breathe?”

Emilia looked up, burning. Everything in her felt caramelized and warm, though her throat now hurt, her belly felt full. “I-I can.”

Aymeric leaned forward, scrutinizing her embarrassed face. She could feel her skin alight under his fingers, his sharp gaze, sweltering and building into her cheeks. “Pray, forgive me then,” He whispered, his head tilting.

She followed his eyes, watched as he traced over the outline of her jaw, throat, collar. “I-I,” But she didn’t have the air to continue her question. Her heart was blazing, burning and flaying in her chest, tightening against her lungs. Surely, be it his hand on her shoulder, he could feel it by now-feel her excitement.

Gently, his thumb slid from beneath her chin to just the edge of her lower lip, a small trail of skin now emergent through the cream and tendrils of leftover chocolate. Though she was beginning to struggle in his hold, no doubt from suspicion, he held her steady. If he was going to do this, he would go through full with what he intended-he had to have an answer. “Permit me…this once.”

And Fury help him, he did it.

His lips, warm and spiced, crashed against hers in molded, rough perfection. Both, eyes open and shocked, stared at each other wordlessly as his mouth folded against hers; again, and again, massaging and nipping, tasting her. Beneath him, Emilia tried to match his pace, but inevitably lost against his crushing speed. After a moment, her eyes began to fold, closing to relish in his own flavor, dark and ripe with sweetness.

Though he’d meant to be gentle, he couldn’t help the sinful laps of his tongue against the wet skin of her mouth; brandy, chocolate, sweet and dizzying. Wishing for more, he slid his hands from her jaw and back behind her head, twisting his fingers into the strands resting along her neck. The other, previously grasping her shoulder, slipped behind and wrapped around her lower back, pressing her further into him. She gasped, shocked by the pressure against her chest, but without pause he caught her-filling her opened mouth with his tongue.

Her chest ached-warm, tangled, spiraling through her like a twisted knot. She didn’t know what this meant, what he was trying to convey to her. Emilia didn’t know how to move or what to do, what if she did something wrong, would that insult him? Lovers on the road-an occasional, rare distraction-never treated her with this level of wanton desire; how was she supposed to treat him? Aymeric felt as if he was practiced, felt as if he knew what he was doing, what he wanted; but what did she want?

The image of his skin open and taught beneath the collar of his shirt, glowing gold in the light of the fire, suddenly came to mind. Gods, how would he taste? Would it be like his mouth, warm and colorful, or would she taste something else? She could feel her hands slipping to reach up to his chest, to satisfy her curiosity, but her bones weighed her down, stopping her just before she could make contact with his shirt.

Winded, Aymeric opened his mouth along her lips, whispering something Emilia couldn’t quite hear. He was breathless, much like she, but he wore a wickedly pleased smile upon his lips, equally covered in cream and chocolate. Hesitantly, he released the grips on both her hair and waist, his cheeks brightening upon realization of how strong he’d been pulling her into him. “I-I apologize,” He murmured again, lowering her body from his chest.

She panted, staring up at him. Air scorched her lungs like molten glass, but gods, her whole body felt aflame-limp, unresponsive. Her mind raced, her stomach and hands craving to feel him-to explore and sate her questions and curiosities.

The Lord Commander sighed, “Emilia,” Her eyes wandered to his disheveled hair, which fell into his face like drapes of blackened, aberrant curtains. Bright, wide eyes looked at her from beneath his covered face, staring and full of worry, but darker than before. She wanted to touch him. “I-” He breathed, “I-I hope you may forgive me. I simply c-couldn’t wait any longer.”

She licked her lips, trying to open her mouth to speak. Her voice felt foreign, thick. “It’s…” she paused, trying to think of the words to say; all she could think of was him. How amazing he looked, how the fire illuminated his skin and face, how amazing he smelt this close to her, “O-okay.”

His eyebrows knitted. Like this, her body between her arms, with her heaving chest and swollen lips, gods, he could have taken her again-drunk deep and swallowed her in his desire. His chest burned, his stomach felt heavy and leaden; just once more and he could be sated. He could take this moment and lock it away, keep it for himself. “L-let me clean you up.” He leaned away from her, at least the distance could allow him to think more clearly, “I see we’ve both made quite a mess of your drink.”

Emilia didn’t quite understand what he’d meant until she looked down. Her lap, whom she’d used to house her drink prior to her choking, was covered in the remnants of her goblet. Cream, oranges, and sticky coffee coated her thighs and lap, clinging to the pants and her skin beneath. She flushed-like this, it left very little to the imagination, and she suddenly because very uncomfortable. “T-that’s…n-no. Don’t.”

The elezen turned back to her, his eyes now drawn, somewhat pained. Did he misinterpret what they’d just done, how she’d responded? Was…she was pushing him away? “I-I apologize then,” Gently, he released his arms from her hair and waist, resting her along the rug beneath them. “I’ll leave you so that you-”

“N-no, wait.” She reached up, grasping the collar of his shirt with a clenched hand. Both her eyes flashed with panic and for a moment, she’d paled.

He felt his chest tearing, shattering; if this is what he thought it to be, gods, he couldn’t stand her pity. ‘Twas just like the bath; he’d mentioned his mother, and she’d reacted as any comforting hero would-she bore her heart, and reached for him. Like the Warrior of Eorzea would, she attempted to distract him from his pain, his memories. But…He wished that for her, he wanted to take her away from that pain, the grief and nightmares she drank in the bars to forget. The aches she so desperately tried to slash and hack away, either as a mage or a knight, as one who saw over her, delivering her jobs and requests-nothing ever seemed to sate her.

Gingerly, he wrapped one of his hands around hers, trying to unwind her small, tight fingers from his shirt. “It’s fine, Emilia. Let me at least fetch you a towel.”

“No.” The miqo’te’s brow turned into a twist of annoyance and frustration. Her fist didn’t waver, instead it tightened, pulling him back down to her body. Surprised, he reached out to each side of her head, halting himself before doubling over her. “Wait.”

Aymeric looked at her, the leaden weight in his stomach returning. Though the bath had caused most of her hair to curl, much like that of the length she’d drape over her left, her bangs still fell in straightened, sharp edges before her eyes. It was disheveled, like much of her now, but fanned in aromatic, curled waves by her shoulders and head. Her scent was dizzying.

He couldn’t tell if it was their proximity, or her shyness, but both pupils had expanded from her normal slits into widened, blown ovals. Pale blue and gold, cool against the pallor of her skin and light against the redness of her cheeks. With effort he took in a breath-abruptly confused by her turn of attitude-and looked back at her, trying to keep himself calm. “What do you mean?”

“I-I,” Her skin burned. She didn’t know what she wanted, what this was, but she wanted to touch him, she wanted more of this-curiosity, at least, was simply demanding it of her now. The way his face turned, twisting as he continued speaking, moving away from her; didn’t he understand? She didn’t know if she’d done something wrong, something to make him want to leave, but he said he’d indulge himself, indulge her. “I want you to stay. I...” She turned her face, too embarrassed to look at him. Since when did she become such a selfish, deprived hero? “I…I want you to keep going.”

The elezen’s heart began pounding again, his stomach kneading and twisting. Slowly, he leaned to her, pressing his nose into the crook of her jaw. “Do you…know what you’re saying, Emilia?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, shivering at the warmth of his breath. Her skin felt electric, active. “I-I do,” another shiver racked her body as he moved, brushing her neck with his warm, soft lips. “I…I want to warn you, though.”

Aymeric removed himself from her then, leaning his head back to watch her embarrassed, hiding face. He’d long forgotten of her spilled drink, her shivering, wanton expression had taken him from reality itself-god of the realms help him, all he wanted was her. He could imagine it, ripping her from the floor into his arms, tasting her lips and tearing her clean of his shirt. He’d take her upon his bed, gently as to keep her comfortable; simple, at first. He’d show her how slowly he could unwind the stressful knots from her shoulders, how meticulous he could be in touching, worshipping her legs and beautiful, delicate hands. He’d drink of her mouth, of course, then continue-sampling her neck, feeling her chest and breath, counting the scars he’d seen all to clearly along the way, whispering a prayer for each. He cleared his throat, “Yes?”

Emilia removed her hands from her sides, from his shirt, and placed them in cups over her face. Both covered her eyes and cheeks but, much to his amusement, were too small to cover her mouth. “You mustn’t laugh…”

The elezen grinned and leaned into her again, resting his lips along the ear she’d flattened atop her head. He took careful measure to keep his body aloft hers, to ensure he wasn’t trapping her, persuading her. “Never.”

“Do…you promise?”

“I swear upon the honor of Ishgard and all of my knights, my blade if you’ll have it, Emilia.” Aymeric rested himself on his elbow, “Your secrets are safe with me.”

Her back arched inward as she curled into her hands, shivering as his long fingers met with the soft, brown lining atop her pointed ear. He grinned again, stroking with his thumb as he waited for her to speak. “I-I’m,” another shiver, “I’m not very good at this…I’ve only been with…few and I’m worried, I...don’t want to disappoint you.”

Gently, he placed a kiss upon the tuft nearest her skull, then moved along the sides of her hands, gliding past her temple to her covered cheeks. “Permit me to speak candidly with you then, Emilia.”

She silently waited, gauging his tone and reaction. He’d seemed genuine, as he always had-he wasn’t teasing, he wasn’t pulling her upon a string of deceit or contempt; but her doubts remained. Voices, murmuring and whispering how inadequate she was, how undeserving and unfit she was to have this, to have happiness when so many others couldn’t afford that luxury-gods, especially with him.

She really wasn’t very good at…intimacy anyway; road hands only want quick, wandering sessions to sate hazy lust and an irregular need for skin, but she didn’t get that feeling from the elezen. Not once tonight, nor any other occasion, had Ser Aymeric made her feel as if she was his entertainment, his…Hesitantly, she lowered her hands. “W-what do you mean?”

Aymeric smiled and slid his arms beneath her, twisting her head such that their eyes could meet-pale blue to equal, oceanic gold. “Contrary to what some may believe, I’m not adept in these areas either, nor do I wish to disappoint you.” He leaned close, brushing his lips against her jaw, “However, I gave you my word, did I not?”

Her chest rattled beneath him, catching in her throat. Looking up at him, this close, her skin felt like molten amber-hot, uncomfortable. Indulge. “Y-yes.”

“Relax. I’ll fetch you a towel,” he pressed a soft, chaste kiss against her chin. “I’ve yet to fulfill my duties for the evening.”

Emilia reached for him as he placed her back along the rugs, blushing and breathing with a slight pant, but he wove through her fingers. He grinned down at her, taking note of how beautiful she looked spread over his floor and cushions, and picked up the glass from her lap.

“Wait here.” He hummed, turning towards his washroom. “I’ll return in a moment.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...This work actually turned into a 50 page, 24,445 word fan fiction monster...lol. I've just recently started Graduate school, so I GREATLY apologize to all that this last chapter is so late in posting (I've been working on it between classes...UwU....). To everyone who has left a comment or a kind note to me about this work, I really really appreciate it :"D many times I didn't really have the will to continue this, I honestly really thought it was terribly written, and I didn't think I could portray the characters well enough to actually do it...but I did finish it at least! 
> 
> I do apologize, ahead of time, for the short ending near the bottom, I do feel like it's quite...eh, personally, but I was at a loss for how to finish it and just...don't have the patience to wait until the moment strikes me for what I want. That said, I hope you all have enjoyed this work! I hope to write 3 more in the coming future (Emet-Selch, Sidguru, Evil Aymeric AU), so any feedback from here would be greatly appreciated in order to make the next even better! 
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3
> 
> ~~*~~

Emilia sighed as she removed herself from the floor. Her pants, still covered in the sticky aftermath of her drink, were becoming more and more uncomfortable the longer she sat near the fire. Though hesitant, she did consider removing them-at least she’d find some semblance of comfort and be able to clean herself once Aymeric returned; the problem, however, was that her underclothes were still dirty. More so, they had been removed from the bench along with her armors, something she’d neglected to realize upon the end of her shower…without any replacement. 

She blushed as she began walking around the room, distracting herself with the décor. Like the washing chamber, his hall was elegant, sophisticated; silvers and golds adorned various edges and moldings, admonishing the same style as, would seem, Ser Aymeric himself. The floors were fashioned in large, stone tablets-grey and chiseled such to be smooth against the feet though plain to the eye. They were cold against her skin, but comforting in contrast to the plush blue spread she’d been laying against prior.

Large stained windows sat along each side of his large, wooden bed. Each set of glass depicted battles, sigils, and beautiful deities amongst colors of crystalline reds, purples, blues, and greens. To the left housed a large desk and plush chair, each littered with letters and stacks of enormous tomes. She smiled, ever the hard-worker the Commander was.  
  
Before her long, old shelves of blackened wood stood alongside the stone of the fireplace, each housing their share of elegant books, scrolls, and parchments. Absently, she ran her fingers down the spine of a particularly familiar one, _Of Alomancy and Rhetoric, Edition XI of Collection VIII.  
_

E-Sumi-Yan had lent her this series at the beginning of her journey in Gridania, if memory served.  
  
  
“ _It will be good for you,” He’d assured, pressing the first three volumes toward her._

_Emilia, younger then, much more naïve and....heated, had dismissed him-pushing back against his gesturing hands. If memory served, this was her first year amongst the guild, her first years in the city, before enlisting with the adventurer’s guild. “These novels don’t pertain to white magic, Master. If I’m to set out, then give me something…useful.”_

_The padjal had smiled then, shaking his head. “These are useful, child. If you hope to rewrite what’s befallen you, if you hope to grow stronger and nourish your light, you needs’t study.” He pressed forward again, “White Magic, though of spirits and nature, still requires a meticulous mind.”_

_Gods, how that’d angered her. “Fine, what do they speak of then? Monsters, ailments I needs’t learn to heal without magic? Herbs? Horoscopes?”_

_E-Sumi laughed, “Patience.”_  
  


“I see you’ve made yourself home amongst my literature,” Aymeric called, “’Tis some of my favorites, those in particular.”

Emilia gasped and turned, shocked from her revelry. “A-ah, yes,” She hesitantly straightened her shirt, smoothing it over her arms, “I-I’ve read them.”

The Lord Commander smiled as he made way to her, a dampened towel now draped in his hands. The chocolate mixture, of which she’d forgotten of on herself, had been cleaned from his mouth-now exposing the length of his lips and the slightly reddened quality they bore. She was suddenly embarrassed that hers still remained. “Why does that not surprise me, Warrior of Light?”

“’Twas part of my studies, _Commander._ ” She softened, but the stammers of nervousness left as she spoke. “White Mages were required to know divination as the beginnings of our lessons with E-Sumi. I…wasn’t fond, but they were interesting nonetheless.”

_  
“Emilia, if you’re to follow, if you’re to take up her blessing, don’t forget your charge.” E-Sumi stressed, folding her hands in his own._

_The miqo’te nodded and fell to her knee, a gesture all mages before her took up in accordance with their passage from pupil, to conjurer. She kept her hands raised to his and bowed her head, listening for the words of spirits to guide her, speak to her of what to do next. “Be strong, follow the path, and may the light guide you on your journey.”_

He walked up to her side, looking over the tomes himself. Fond memories of his childhood, of Estinein and he studying in the church, leaving early from lectures, or defacing the congregate benches, came flooding back-warm, mischievous. “’Twas in my studies as well. The Holy See prides itself upon schooling Paladins to provide clemency unto ourselves,” He looked down to her, “And those in our charge. I suppose the White Mage philosophies branch more than one might consider?”

At first, the miqo’te was silent. She’d considered the measure of his statement, how the elements and classes combined, wove-as her mother crystal had explained to her on countless occasions. The text in question was long, difficult to comprehend and at her age, she had barely made it through-even with the help of fellow mages teaching her to read. “Mayhap.”

Aymeric tilted his head and placed the hand, without the towel, under her chin-biding her to look at him. Her eyes, vibrant and alive by the fire, had a hollow quality to them-one reminiscent of her arrival back to Ishgard, upon the falling of her fellow Scions. Gently, he stroked his thumb along her skin, feeling the softness and warmth of the space near her lips and cheek. “I…hope I’ve not disturbed you.” He murmured, “’Twas just a musing of mine, having seen you and your work.”

She smiled, her eyes closing against the touch of his hand. Her mind had stilled, at least momentarily. A feeling, which she often had when the Crystal began to speak to her, threatened to take her memories into a darker, longer space-but the presence of his fingers on her skin began willing the call away. “You haven’t,” Emilia leaned against him. “Enlightened, if anything.”

Gently, the elezen held her face, tenderly stroking the streams of residue beverage from her mouth with his spare hand. She hummed, almost _purred_ , as the warm cloth circled over her lips, chin. The towel was soft and pleasant against her face, again, relaxing her into the touch of the Commander. “I’ll consider myself _privileged_ to have enlightened the Warrior of Radiance, then.” He smiled as he stepped closer to her, enough that their bodies could almost touch, “’Tis an honor I’ll cherish.” 

Emilia opened her eyes, though the relaxing sensations on her skin had her feeling heavier and heavier with each ministration. She looked up to Aymeric, heart pounding as she made contact with his bright, glowing blue eyes. Absolute adoration stared back at her, heated and growing more opaque the longer she watched him, “Cherish seems a bit…too reverent.”

He tilted his head, bringing the towel away from her mouth. Her lips, red before, shone in the darkness, dewed and, much as her skin, colored a tantalizing shade of pink. He restrained himself, fighting the heat building in his abdomen. “And you feel you don’t deserve worship, admiration?”

The miqo’te’s eyes lowered and looked to her side, hesitant and embarrassed by his inquiry. Behind her, he could catch glimpses of her fluffed brown tail swaying, flicking between each of her legs in quick, side-step motions. “N-no.”

Aymeric dropped the towel on the ground and leaned into her, pulling her body flush against his. “And if I wish to revere you regardless?”  
  
She’d gasped as the hand cupping her cheek slid into her hair, reaching and massaging her ear with tormenting circles of long, strong fingers. With a shiver, she looked up at him from beneath his chest, her hands splayed against the length of his stomach.

Her heart began hammering again, mining her bones and splintering with its speed. At his immense height, her shoulders could barely manage to break the lieu of his waist, her head just below his pecs. “Y-you needn’t say such things,” she whispered, blushing.

His eyes watched her with dark, liquid warmth, “And if I do?”

  
She swallowed hard.

He smelled intoxicating this close, like harvest cakes and spices used at the turn of the solstice, like crisp leaves and fragrant, colorful flowers. She breathed deep, almost tasting the heat in the space between them; this close, the curiosity was seething.  
  
Hesitantly, Emilia reached up to him, holding back her breath for fear he’d back away from her attempted touch. Much to her surprise, he stayed-watching intently as she made contact with the cloth of his shirt. Her fingers, so small compared to himself, rose and fell with each breath he took, spreading gently over the thin, dark fabric. 

“I-Is this okay?” She whispered, tracing the muscles over his tightening belly.

Slowly, he reached down and placed a hand over hers, pausing her exploratory motions. She made move to retreat, as if she had done something wrong, but he pressed into her, pushing her back into the spines of the bookcases with a gentle thud. Emilia’s eyes watched, brightening and speculant as he pulled her hands higher, resting them just below the start of his collarbone. He looked down at her, watching as thundering pulses of his heart beat beneath her fingers, hot and rabid against his ribs. “Yes,” he breathed.

Aymeric gently removed his hand from hers and slipped both alongside her head, holding himself up along the frame. After a moment, the miqo’te began to trace circles along his collarbone, gently brushing against the opening in his shirt and the buttons latched between.

He held back a groan as she moved, watching as her eyes greedily began to wander to his neck, his shoulders. Vaguely, he began to imagine it was her lips rather than her hands touching him, tasting his skin and tickling against the fabric of his shirt. Emilia, too, began to wonder the same-earlier musings of the fire coming to mind as the pushed against him, straining at her height to reach. Before he could catch himself, the soft warmth of her chest thrust into his hips, his stomach, sending an uncontrollable wave of pleasure through his body.

“E-Emilia,” The elezen retracted a hand and put it to his mouth, cheeks flushing upon the realization of what he’d done, and what she’d undeniably heard.  
  
Bright eyes looked up to him in curious, inquiring innocence-the ministrations of her hands suddenly slowing and pausing on each side of his pecs.

Everything in him suddenly felt warm, burning-an electric current rippling through his skin. Below him, her fingers felt like flames against his chest, her parted lips and bright cheeks pushing his craving for her past the point of patient, measured control. He made move to pull away from her, to at least regain some of his composure, but Emilia followed-pressing herself into him.

With an air of confidence, she grasped hold of his shirt tails, pulling him as he stepped away. His cheeks flushed as he felt her soft, warm chest press into his stomach again, each mound molding against one of his hips. “W-what are you doing, Emilia?”

Aymeric grunted as he backed into his bed, his legs caving as the mattress buckled into the soft areas behind his knees. A breath escaped him as his body fell, landing with a thud into cool, azure sheets. He tried to sit up, to reach out and ask, again, why the miqo’te had become so forward with him, but he stopped-stunned.

For a moment, Emilia lingered by his knees, looking down at him with gleaming, curious eyes and breathy, panting lips. Her head tilted, hands reaching over to caress the cloth of the bed beneath him. After a moment of heated, anticipatory silence, she began to climb up alongside his left, crawling like a cat on her hands and knees. The bed dipped under the pair as she reached his shoulders, stopping to look down at him with the same, seductive expression. Her cheeks flushed, “D-do you want me to stop?”

The sight of her sent another wave of desire through him. “No, Emilia,” Thick, sweltering heat bubbled as strands of her disheveled hair fell over her shoulders, falling like drapes alongside the opening of her shirt. The collar had fallen as she’d climbed; though still buttoned, the mouth of it fell, exposing her neck and part of her shoulder to him. He swallowed, watching as the light of the fire danced over the pale expanse of her skin.

Slowly the bed shifted, allowing the miqo’te to lean back onto her heels beside him. He watched, again, reveling in the ways her hair would sway or her ears would flicker as she moved. “Before you continue though,” He smirked, “Would you per chance allow me to resume where we’d left off?”

Emilia looked down at him, perplexed. “What?”

Still grinning, the elezen pushed himself from the bed and wrapped his hands around her outstretched wrists. She opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off with as gasp as he leaned into her-using her previous momentum to push her body back into the mattress. With a firm hand, he turned her wrists so that they were pinned with his left, sitting in crosses just above her head. Emilia began panting, scared. “W-what are you doing?”

Nimbly, Aymeric climbed over her waist, straddling her legs with his knees. The bed creaked as she dipped below him, trapped and swallowed against the length of his body, “I’m simply doing as you had a moment ago…attending you.” He smiled, sweet and dark against the glow of the fire.

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I didn’t ask you to attend to me, Commander, you said it was fi-”

“I’d promised indulgence,” The elezen leaned down to her, rolling his knees such that his body could lay, now weighted, against her chest and hips. “Though it’s your duty, I can’t have you doing all of the work…can I, _Warrior of Light?”_

Frustrated, Emilia turned her head, refusing to look into the eyes of the man above her. With his right, Aymeric began tracing the muscles in her arms. He was gentle, following the length of each; back and forth from her elbows, down to the base of her upturned shoulders. Upon the end of each lap, he’d stop-watch her breathe, then continue with the opposite arm, relishing in the way she’d squirm or arch against him upon each turn. Had this been a different moment, he may have laughed at how endearing she looked; red, embarrassed, shy, and innocent-but here it made him delirious.

He leaned further, removing his hand to press a kiss against the hollow of her jaw. She gasped again, squeezing her eyes further at the contact. “Do you wish for me to stop?” The elezen looked up at her, waiting expectantly.

“N-no,” She stammered, breathless. Had she her hands, he knew she would be covering herself, as she had by the fire but moments before-he was glad he thought to hold them.  
So endearing-this champion, this woman.

Aymeric smiled, “Good.”

Hot, steaming embarrassment lit her cheeks as he continued, turning her face a desperate, brilliant shade of red. The elezen sighed, relishing in the way her lids twitched, now in sync with his breath. The scent of her, floral and achingly fragrant, burned his nose as he began working his mouth on her skin-nibbling, licking, sucking. Beneath him, a strained whine spilled from her lips-muffled by her tightly closed mouth.

Agonizing pleasure coursed like a wave through him, a sudden ache probing him to hear more of her, all of her. By the Fury, what would she sound like if he…“Don’t silence yourself,” he rasped, pushing against the hold on her wrists. “Let me hear you.”

Emilia opened her eyes, the heat of her skin almost too much to bear. Everything, from his touch to the warmth of his mouth, left her boiling and dizzy. Hesitantly, she turned to him, meeting his eyes with molten, liquid desire. “I-I can’t.” She stammered, panting. “I-It’s embarrassing.”

“And I want to hear it,” his eyes softened as he met her gaze. She was nervous; though she was putting on her bravado, looking away from him and hiding, he could tell that she was frightened of this-this moment, their closeness. His heart warmed, “No one is listening, Emilia, no one but me.” 

She bit her lip, looking at him with a desperate plea for understanding. “B…B-but, Ay-”

“I give you my word,” He smiled, kissing her throat.

The miqo’te ears flickered and her eyes fell shut, softly this time rather than pinched.

“Just relax.” And he dipped his head.

His mouth, meandering and gentle, now turned hot and demanding, rubbing against her neck and collar with a fiery, wet, need. Aymeric lifted from her skin to her jaw, kissing just below her parted lips. She looked up at him, waiting, but panting. “You sound lovely.”

Her eyes widened, “D-don’t say things like that…”

With careful motions, he slipped his fingers around her arms and pulled them up to his shoulders, smiling. “It’s true, Emilia, I could attend to your voice, ‘tis musical, in a way…” Her cheeks flushed furiously, skin burning from his contact. He leaned close, brushing his lips over hers, “And I think I will.”

  
She tensed.  
  


Their mouths intertwined, Aymeric grasping onto her body like a man drowning in hot, breathless water. Her lips greeted him sweetly, tenderly, enough that he was sent spiraling with only her taste to take him. He, on the other hand, began pushing her as she relaxed against him-wanton for her own passion and conviction to show itself to him.

Excitedly, he explored the reach of her lips, dipping and tasting each until they began to match his swelling pace, unrelenting. With a flick of his teeth, he bit down onto the lower, bidding her to open her mouth to his tongue. She moaned, but was set on attempting to meet his fury with her own gentle, hesitant tastings. Upon realizing her endeavor, the elezen stopped and eagerly accepted, opening his mouth for her with a gasp of air. 

She licked, flipping her tongue along the walls of his mouth as she pulled him closer, her fingers lacing into the curly hair trapped along his neck. As she jerked against the locks, he drug his mouth along hers to deepen the angle, groaning as his skin erupted with pleasured goose flesh. Emilia seemed pleased, holding him there as she continued swiping, tasting his teeth and equal measures of his tongue.

As he pulled her into an embrace her arms wound like leather behind him, her strength pulling her from the bed below and up against his body in a desperate, passionate hold. He smiled and slipped his hands to her legs, earning himself another gasp from the miqo’te, then took her mouth again to keep her from distracting him.

Each of his fingers grasped onto the flesh on her thighs, pulling, kneading, and bidding her to wrap them along each side of his hips. She followed and did as he offered, with less apprehension than before, but moaned as he placed her along the stretch of his covered erection. He, too, had to keep from releasing any sounds of pleasure, and instead pressed his hands harder into her thighs, relishing in the way her supple skin bent against the length of his hands.

Gingerly, Emilia leaned into him, tightening and crossing her legs behind the small of his back. Warmth greeted her from her belly, tightening and spasming as the friction of their clothes began to grind against their skin. “A-Aymeric,” She gasped, panting as she pulled herself away from his mouth, “Aymeric, I-”

Without hesitation, the elezen pressed down on her thighs, his hips inclining, waiting to meet her. Her question ended with a long, pitchless sigh as she was pushed against his length-warm, soft shivers erupting as she grasped fists of his hair. He sighed, pressing his forehead against hers, breathing hard. “I-I will not rush you into anything,” Emilia looked at him between half-lidded, thick eyes. His heart melted as she watched him, puffs of breath escaping and falling from her lips. “But…I do wish to follow through with what we’ve begun…”

When she inclined her head in confusion, he smiled and placed a chaste kiss upon her mouth. “I-I will not continue without your consent.”

The miqo’te flushed, her breath equally as taken and haggard, “C-Continue?”

“Yes, Emilia…I’d like to continue with our…present activities, but I will not do so unless you wish for it as well.” Aymeric softened, “I’d be beside myself if I knew we’d shared in this exchange to only have you regret it on the ‘morrow.”

Emilia bit down on her lip; she wanted this to continue, she’d anticipated it to-had he not?  
She wouldn’t regret it, this had already been one of, if not the, most personal experience she’d had with a man-and one who really seemed to mean his word, intimately and figuratively. She was a Scion, and true their relationship would become…complex, if he really meant what he said, but Halone above, she hadn’t had this in so long. With a manner of hesitance, she released the fists of curled hair she’d been pulling on moments before, embarrassed at how tightly she’d gripped them. “If…we do, c-can I touch you?”

“But of course.” Rumbles of laughter filled her ears as the body beneath her shook, a wave of heavy relief engulfing both of them.

She looked up at the Commander, watching as his face filled with merriment and contentment. His pale blue eyes were still hazy, like fog rolling over Coerthas before a storm. She’d never looked carefully, but this close she could see speckles of brown present near the rims, like a gemstone full of precious minerals. Black hair, unceremoniously tousled before, fell in waves of curls in front and along his face, brightening his features.

Gently, she slid her hands down along his firm chest, stopping along each side of his ribs. He watched her, his cheeks flushing slightly as she’d moved. The skin beneath was incredibly warm, “Truly?”

Aymeric nodded, “Truly.”

Emilia lowered her hands again, this time pressing against his abdomen with splayed fingers, “Still?”

The flush in his cheeks deepened, but his eyes stayed locked with hers. “Yes,” He rasped.

Her tail began to flicker behind her, the mischief written plainly across her face. Slowly, she uncurled her legs from behind his back and pulled them along each of his thighs, folding her calves beneath her knees and leaning into him. He allowed her to lead him, following as she pressed him towards the mattress he’d previously pinned her upon, and flushed as she settled her backside against the tops and crooks in his thighs.

Her hands stayed open and pressing but as he fell back, they slid to each side of his hips, kneading the skin now exposed from beneath the tails of his shirt. She watched as he swallowed, his cheeks now vibrant.

In one motion, she slid her fingers over to the buttons lining the length of his torso, settling on the pair near the cusp of his beltline. She tugged at the set of buttons, “And this?”

The Lord Commander’s eyes darkened measurably as she wove the fasten free from its hold, further exposing his stomach to the heat of the room. “I-If that is what you wish.”

Emilia leaned down, pressing her lips to the skin now displayed along his belly. He fought back a groan as the wet, warmth of her mouth trailed kisses against his beltline, his heart hammering at the thought of her moving any lower.

Fury save him, he’d surely die.

She hummed as her fingers worked along his shirt, deftly removing each button as her tongue ran slick circles along each new expanse of skin, tasting and lapping. Once free, she pulled both flaps of the chemise open and traced her hands along his body, up and down each side in slow, massaging succession. Beneath the shirt taut muscle and a myriad of scars layered his abdomen and chest, expanding and contracting as her nails traced the dips and crevasses. Gooseflesh erupted over his arms and stomach, his breath becoming harder and harder to restrain.  
  
“Still?” She whispered, her mouth now hovering above his chest.

Aymeric huffed, watching as she began to lower her lips onto his right nipple. Coils of anticipatory pleasure tightened in his stomach, feeding the erection now trapped against his leg. “Y-yes, Emilia.” His voice came as a dark, low growl.

The miqo’te smiled as he arched into her mouth, the pert skin on his right now engulfed in the warmth of her tongue and teeth. She sucked, swirling the length of it along her lips, then bit down gently as she kneaded the muscle surrounding. He hissed in a breath, moving one of his hands to her hair, her ears, knotting it behind her neck into a fist clenched with brown and white curls. She leaned into his hold, gently flicking her tongue against him. Each wave sent heat to his abdomen, and as she began again with the left, it nearly rocked him from beneath her.

Her hands, though gentle at first, were now like anchors clasped on his shoulders, holding him down and keeping herself hovering just above him. The collar from her shirt had fallen again, this time revealing a line of cleavage now pressed with mounds into the crook of his stomach. He wished he’d been quicker to remove it.

A pitched groan escaped him as she began swirling his left in her mouth, the heat from her tongue lapping over him such that he could feel his pulse aligning, his arousal growing, in time with her motions. Lustily, he reached and grasped hold of her hip, tightening the other in her hair-he couldn’t take the teasing anymore. As she began to add her teeth, he pulled her down and ground his hips into her.

“A-Ahh,” She released him with a moan, exhaling sharply as he did it again, this time pulling her hair such that her head arched from his chest. “A-Aymeric-”

As she made move to change the position of her hands, he pushed against her, now sitting up full beneath her folded legs. Like a serpent, he took her mouth and crushed it against his lips, parting them immediately for his tongue to explore and seize. She yielded to him, the caverns of her mouth now agape and inclining to his tugging hand, which pulled her head further and further from his chest. Her eyes squeezed shut from the painful fist in her hair, now ripping against her scalp with nails digging into her nape.

Just as she’d been about to yelp, he squeezed a final clench of her hair, swiping his tongue along hers and pulled her away, breaking the heated kiss with an audible sigh. Between his lips, she could see a slick line of saliva pulling from their tongues as he moved back, breaking and dripping down the corner of her mouth with a soft _plop_.

Pleasure welled in her stomach as she watched his eyes, dark and misted, drink in her face and throat, settling on the liquid now dripping down her chin. Embarrassment flooded her cheeks she watched him smirk. “Now,” He whispered, squeezing his fingers into her hip, “May I continue, since you’ve had your fill?”

She was panting, unable to respond from the angle of her throat. “I-I-”

He chuckled, “I do believe it’s only fair I reciprocate?” 

Emilia closed her lips again, trying to speak, but was stopped by a sudden tugging on her shirt. Both of his hands, now released of her skin and hair, wove in deft succession over the buttons of her top, each releasing to expose the pale, scarred flesh of her chest and stomach. She panicked, suddenly aware of what was about to happen.

“I-I-” She grasped his hands, stopping both just as the cloth began to fall from her shoulders, “I-I…I don’t…have very good skin…” She rasped, both hands now shaking over his.

The elezen smiled and kissed her throat, running his thumb along the moisture dripping from her mouth. “Your skin is breath-taking,” He whispered, “Do not belittle yourself so.”

“It’s…scored, it’s not like…other women you’ve been with.” She lowered her eyes, “I-I’m sorry, I know it’s-”

Aymeric looked up to her with fierce resolve, his hands now ripping the cloth away to expose her torso-lean, battled, and pale to the light of his eyes. He watched her, inspecting the way she began to fidget and breathe, his chest tightening in response. Flustered, Emilia made to cover herself, but he grabbed her wrists before she had the chance, pinning them to her sides. “Do not apologize for being you.”

The expanse of her chest was littered with misshapen tears, slashed along at haphazard angles and various lengths of her skin. Soft, warm breasts rested between the largest array, but each donned their own set of marks-stitched, laced, and woven over the swell and dip of both. Along her stomach, lean as it may be, large purple bruises and fresh scars expanded down to her waist, angry and blemished against the pale of her skin. He lowered his lips to kiss a moon shaped burn near her shoulder, “Each of these were donned to save those who couldn’t do so themselves.”

She shook her head violently, either at him or the situation he didn’t know, but he had come too far for her to think of herself as such. His heart ached; she was much too beautiful and much too strong to quarry her worth upon her skin, not when her deeds curried such a deep, painful ledger. “Tell me, what was this from?”

Her mismatched eyes looked down at him, flustered. Soft, gentle tears began to well at the corners, “A chimera…near the Highlands.”

His lips traced over another, which ran the length of her right rib and breast. He brushed the hair from her shoulder as he moved, “And this?”

“A claymore, from my Master Fray.”

The name rung a bell in his mind, but was dulled by the taste of her skin. “Here?”

“A Dragoon,” The miqo’te squeezed her fists, “While on a mission for Tataru.”

“Hm, they’re lovely,” he slipped his tongue just under the swell of her left breast, near the edge of her discolored, bruised skin. “…All lovely.”

She shook her head again, but refused to look into his eyes, embarrassed. He smiled and released her wrists, moving instead to cup the soft skin balled on each side of her sternum. A muffled moan spilled from her lips as his fingers took in both, holding them with gentle, curious reverence. “D-Don’t say such things, C-Commander…”

Slowly, Aymeric lapped his tongue over the flesh beneath him, licking gently as he reached the pert skin now pinched between his forefinger and thumb. Her back arched, another moan falling against her closed mouth. He inclined his head, pushing her breast towards him with long, slender fingers, then squeezed-earning himself a louder, yet still muffled, response.

“’Tis truth,” He whispered. With his right, he began to knead against the skin, pushing and pulling to allow the weight of her to fall and swell into his palm. After each ministration, her eyes and breath would pinch, then dully relax in time with his weaving, exploring fingers. Both of her pupils, usually vertical and dangerous, were ovalled and heavy-watching him with misted, warm pleasure.

As he pinched both of her breasts, much harder than the previous, her hips dipped and pressed into him with jarring strength-grinding against his length now trapped beneath her. He held back a hiss as he enveloped the bud, “All…so lovely.”

Emilia bit down on her lip, her hands now stretching to overlap in the elezen’s hair, close to base of his elongated ears. Cool, buzzing chill filled her as his mouth left her skin, the nipple growing hard upon the lack of wet, warm, heat. Aymeric laced his fingers over her as her back arched, kneading with teasing, gentle motions before his tongue swiped against her right breast. As he took her, she clenched her fists against his neck and moaned fully, pulling hard on the curls entwined above each lobe. Her voice, normally dark and alto, fell on him like thick, warm water-igniting something hot and thick in his stomach. He needed to hear it again.

With his left, he gripped her chest and lifted his hips, hitting her thigh with the warmth of groin. She moaned again, this time slightly higher and softer, then shivered against him with a sigh as she settled back onto his legs. He continued this, grinding into her and changing between each of her breasts, until both were reddened and sore. 

Emilia leaned against him as he lifted from her skin, gasping against his throat with warm tufts of breath. As he pressed his face into her hair, her fingers wove slowly around the band clasped in his ear, kneading against the elongated points jutting out of each.

Gently, he rested his hands against the small of her back, inclining her to lean her weight against his torso. She did as he asked, pressing her exposed breasts and stomach against the length and heat of his chest. Both seemed to sigh as their skin touched, the warmth spreading between them with giddy, anticipatory pleasure. “M-may I continue?” He whispered, rubbing his thumbs against the hollows of her hips.

The miqo’te swallowed, nodding. “Y-yes, please.”

Her words caught him like wildfire, that darkness pulling from before and bidding him to grab her, to break her against him. “Are you sure, Emilia?” His voice was labored, low.

“Yes.”

Aymeric slipped his thumbs into the waistline of her tights, pulling at them slowly. Her breath caught against his skin, “Truly." 

Emilia inclined her head to him and pressed a kiss against the lobe bearing the diamond on his ear. Her lips felt gentle and warm. “Yes, Aymeric.”

Both of his hands slithered below the cloth at her back, pausing to ensure she’d meant as she said. When no response came, he slowly continued, pulling the pants down the curve of her buttocks and thighs, stopping as they came to rest at the crooks of her bent knees. When he could move no further, he slid his hands back, splaying them along the soft, supple skin resting on either side of her tail. He squeezed, relishing in the way her voice mewled against him, “Lie on your back for me.” 

The miqo’te hesitated, but pulled away from him with flustered, bright cheeks. He followed after her, bending and towering over her body as he had moments before, when they had been questioning where this moment would lead. He stopped on his knees, allowing her to rest fully against the length of the mattress. As she bent and leaned back on her heels, he moved his hands to her hips, kneading them with the long, rough expanse of his thumbs.

Once on her back, she closed her legs and covered her chest, hiding her skin from his warm, exploring gaze. “L-Like this?” She looked up at him, the color from her chest spreading to her neck and breasts, coloring her a light, rosy pink.

“Almost,” He smiled, looking down at her arms, “…Could you, perhaps move those?” 

Emilia bit her lip and hesitantly moved her hands, sliding them to rest on the ribs just below each breast. “Like this?”

“Hmmm,” Aymeric’s eyes paused over the blushing, taught expanse of her chest. As she breathed, each mound lifted and swelled, falling just slightly to the sides of her body. His stomach warmed at the sight of them, at the memory of their softness and warmth. With a smile, he moved his gaze to her stomach, then to the bent legs now hiding the rest of her from view. So endearing, she was.

Gently, he pulled at the cloth of her tights, bidding them past her knees and down her calves and feet. Due to their size, they fell easily enough from her body, but left her looking small and fragile against the blue of the sheets. She made a sound, almost a protest, but he ignored it. “May I ask that you lower your legs as well?”

Her blush deepened. “Y-You’re teasing now, Aymeric.”

The elezen leaned down and pressed his lips against her knee, kissing lightly at the pale expanse of her skin. How could a warrior who’s slain primals and rescued alliances look so frail and stunning? “Mayhap…but I did ask you to trust me, did I not, _Warrior of Light?_ ”

Emilia looked up at him, stunned and flustered. They did this for a moment, staring at each other with a measure of challenging silence-but the miqo’te broke it with a sigh. Begrudgingly, she did as he asked, lowering her legs against the satin of the bed below. He smiled, drinking in the sight of her exposed, shining skin.

Every inch of her was lined with taught, experienced muscle. Her thighs especially were carved and lean, from her hips down to the supple curve of her shins and feet. Scars, like those on her torso, danced and dipped over various expanses of her body-multicolored and spreading over her waist, thighs, calves, and ankles. Now, she held both legs tightly closed, her knees still slightly arched to allow her heels to rest against the mattress. She fidgeted under his gaze, “I-I did as you asked…”

Aymeric leaned into her and pressed a kiss against the soft curve of her stomach. Her skin erupted with gooseflesh at his gesture, her back arching into his touch. “And you did so beautifully,” He chuckled, earning himself a playful glare from the miqo’te. “If I may be so bold…May I make another request?”

Emilia looked at him skeptically, her cheeks flushed. “Mayhap?”

He grinned and trailed his kisses down to her hips, past the soft flesh that resided on the inside of each of her thighs. Delicately, he traced his fingers over the skin on the outsides of her legs, circling the flesh of her buttocks. “Open your legs for me.”

The miqo’te’s face froze in shock, her cheeks darkening under his liquid gaze. He’d just offered her…well, he was implying that he was…Her heart began fluttering uncontrollably, heat building hot and heavy in her stomach. She made move to sit up, but he pushed her back down. “W-What?”

Aymeric pressed his nose into her thigh, pale blue orbs looking up to her mismatched ones. “Open your legs for me.” He whispered, kissing her again.

Emilia squeezed her eyes shut, turning her head from him with defiant embarrassment. With his hands, the elezen began massaging her skin, pressing down into her muscles with his calloused thumbs. A soft hum, almost a whine, escaped her lips as he pushed against her hamstring, releasing the tension built there with hard, circular motions. His mouth, wet and hot, pressed kisses against her skin, prompting her legs to open to his touch and tongue.

As he breathed over her, trailing to the wetness between both legs, her eyes squeezed further, both lips now pressed firmly shut. Gently, he pulled against her right, encouraging the leg to bend and rest above his shoulder. She was hesitant, but as he tugged, she allowed herself to be stretched by his hands, nestling her calve behind the muscles in his neck. 

Slowly, he moved closer to her center, citrus and honey overwhelming him as his mouth drew closer to her body. She whined as his breath hit her again, the motion almost pulling her leg back, but he held fast; his right hand grasped onto her thigh, the left pushing into her belly. Emilia struggled for a moment, her eyes still shut, cheeks fluorescently red-but gods, she looked exquisite. “Relax,” He whispered, pressing a kiss to the soft flesh near her wetness.

“I-I’ll try.” She rasped. True to her word, her body slackened-at least slightly. She refused to look at him, but as he moved, one of her hands reached down to his, stretching to cover the fingers that flayed atop her stomach. He smiled at her gesture, at how sweet it felt, and dipped down to her again, squeezing the leg now draped o'er his back.

A gasp of surprise left her lips as his tongue touched her, swiping long and flat against the wetness that’d been building against her thighs. The sound, sweet and melodic to his ears, fed his own desire that’d been clawing from deep within his belly. As she arched against him, he pressed down with his hand, holding her pelvis such that his lips could encircle and rub against her sex. Electric aches of need coiled and pulled at her stomach, quickening the pulse beneath his fingers and lips. 

With a push, Aymeric pressed his shoulder into the flesh of her thigh, prompting her to open further to the explorations of his mouth. Deftly, he slipped around her, sucking and tasting the salted fruit he’d smelled on her prior, light samplings of chocolate and brandy still present from her spilled drink. Combined with her own flavor, his mouth began to water at the thought of taking her himself, his own arousal burning to sample her skin and flesh.

Her chest, pink and supple, heaved with ragged, pleasured breaths, pausing to release soft sighs at the touch of his mouth. He swiped his thumbs over her skin, gingerly rubbing her to prompt her to look at him, to relax. Though she’d begun to, his ministrations had her coiled, tight-spasms racked her belly as she arched into him, pushing him further and further into her. He obliged, pressing his tongue against her entrance with warm, wet need.

Emilia moaned as he entered her, her lips now bruised from the teeth biting down on them. With each dip of his tongue, hot and slick against the walls of her body, her moans grew heavier, desperate-the muscles in her belly tight beneath his long, pressing fingers. As he moved his mouth, he removed the hand from her thigh and pressed it against her core. Her eyes, though fastened before, were now gazing to her side with heavy, stodgy longing, lips red and bloodied from the piercings made by her canines. She was holding her breath, waiting for him to take her.

As gently as he could, he bent his index into her wetness and pressed, pushing slowly against the rough expanse of her sex. She cried out as he moved, broken and sorrowful as he slipped his finger further and further within her body. As his knuckle reached her rim, she let forth a convulsion of shivers-the walls of her sex tightening down on the intruder now pushing in and out of her. The hand that had been fisted under her breast now wove into a tight ball, clenching like mad to the blue, satin sheets. “A-ahh.”

In a means to help relax her, Aymeric slipped his tongue, now hot with her moisture, higher, swirling circles along the sensitive bud at the top of her sex. Though she refused to look at him, the burning intensity of her eyes had him aching, the melody of her voice sweet and dizzying to his ears. He wanted her to be lost in this moment, to think of him, and only him, giving her release and pleasure-that he would be the only to do this for her, to her.

Though it was slow, he began moving his index in and out of her body, matching his pace to the ministrations of his mouth. At first she quieted, panting along with breathless effort, but as he pressed harder, she began to grind into him, gasping and heaving.

The hand that’d been entwined with his was now clawing into his fingers, begging him to allow her to move. He pushed as she did so, mounting her hard and tightening his palm down on her belly. She cried out again, this time high and long, “A-Aymeric, p-please.” 

The elezen commander hummed and increased his pace, adding his middle finger in with the first. The sound of her rasping voice left him aflame, demanding him continue and treasure her, to etch this moment in his mind before they had to return to politics and pleasantries. The thought of it pained him. 

She whined as he delved into her, bucking her hips up into both his mouth and the length of his hands. He allowed this, but quickened still. As he began lapping against her entrance, her breathing gaped, hitching and heightening in pitch until she could no longer rasp out a mewl. As he plunged into her, faster still, Emilia gripped down on his hand and suddenly stiffened, a pained expression taking her face. 

Tenderly, her body shook, clamping down around his digits until her back slowly began to arch away from the mattress. He followed her, pressing still until her thighs began to tremor against his ears and neck. She sighed as her elevated leg loosened and slid down his shoulder, hinging on her heel before falling past his arm and landing with a thud on the bed. Aymeric smiled and licked his lips as he leaned back on his heels, looking down at her with a mix of admiration and satisfied pride.

Her chest heaved as she looked, in turn, to him-her skin flushed and shivering. A thin sheen of sweat lined her neck and belly, catching the light of the fire and glowing in contrast to the bed. Beneath her, her disheveled tail swayed slowly, flicking between her legs with curious, pendulum-like swings. “You look…stunning,” He breathed, leaning over her. Both of his elbows rested against each side of her temples, pressing into the mattress. “Absolutely stunning.”

Emilia reddened as his face lowered to hers, his lips pressing softly against the tip of her nose. She huffed, her body languid and heavy after her release; how long had it been since she’d had one? “Y-you flatter me unjustly, Aymeric.” She panted, “I didn’t do anything.”

“Ah, but you are.” He nuzzled his forehead into the side of her hair, breathing deep her scent and sighing into her skin, “Your voice alone was a symphony…I’ve imagined this moment since our first meeting.” 

The miqo’te lowered her gaze, “Again, y-you jest.”

“Why would I jest? ‘Tis truth; from the moment Haurchefant introduced me to the Scions, from our moment in Camp Dragonhead,” Aymeric chuckled softly, pressing his lips to her skin. Her pulse hammered against his mouth, “Believe me…I’ve wanted to do this, Emilia…and more, be it you would permit me to do so.”

She continued to look away from him, his breath tickling over her sensitive skin. Her own memories folded back to the moment she’d witnessed him in the small, warm sanctuary-company and politics present. He’d looked like royalty, as rightful as he really was-tall, foreboding, clad in his knightly attire. Of the Alliances and Lords she’d met, he was by far the most intimidating-if not for his height alone-but his personality had been a stark contrast; warm and inviting, gratuitous even. As their pleasantries continued and the meetings turned into commonplace, it’d become clear that he was appreciative of her efforts in Eorzea, but she’d mistaken his compliments for a mask rather than being from a place of admiration-as she had with most who offered to stay her for her blade. “I-I still haven’t done anything for you, Aymeric,” She whispered, crossing her arms over her chest, “Y-you needn’t flatter me so much.”

The elezen leaned back to look at her, grinning, “Does my flattery vex you?”

“I drunk myself to stupor and had to be “collected” by the Commander of the Temple Knights, that’s nothing to flatter. It’s shameful, if anything.” She huffed, blushing, “Alphinaud would have my head if he knew I’d done this again.”

Aymeric pressed his forehead against hers. The thought of her being in the state she’d been upon his arrival at the bar struck him; icy anger lighting the coals that’d stayed in his stomach. “He was, indeed, one whom sought word upon your absence…however, I took it upon myself to ensure I would be the one you would fall company to this evening.”

Emilia looked at him skeptically, a vague memory of his promise at the doorway coming back to her. “…I’m starting to believe you a jester rather than a Knight.”

He chuckled, “’Tis a title I’ll bear with honour." 

The look in his eyes made her slightly skeptic. She pushed against him and looked to his face, “Did you truly mislead Alphinaud?”

Aymeric smiled, the warmth of her palms resting gently upon his chest. “…And Tataru…D’ve, Yvette; as I said, I made well to ensure I would be the one to find you.”

She stiffened, “W-Why?”

He leaned close and brushed his lips against her mouth, his eyes intensely pale against the pallor of his skin. He relished in her sudden drawn, innocent reaction, “Emilia, how do you expect me to stay by whilst I hear word of you missing? The esteemed _warrior of light_ being cornered, wounded…in a tavern full of… _men_?”

The venomous tint to his voice made her shiver. Was he feigning jealousy? He, of all people? “I-I could have handled it.” 

“…And I wouldn’t stay by and watch whilst you did,” His hand left her side and slid down her cheek, caressing softly as it fell along the length of her neck. As her eyes watched him, searching, he pressed his thumb against her chin and jaw, forcing her eyes to stay locked with his.

“A-Aymeric…”

As he watched her face begin to flush, an idea took him. He bit down on his lower lip and smirked, pulling back from her mouth with teasing slowness. She inclined as he did so, “Yes?”

Her eyes narrowed, “A-answer me.”

The elezen chuckled and continued to lean back, resting, elevated, just above her exposed thighs. As she broke into gooseflesh, he removed his hands and slid them down her body, pausing each hand along the hollows of her hips. “I’ve shown you my reasoning, Emilia,” His eyes watched hers with dark, illuminating lust, “But I’ll provide to you a better example.”

“W-W...”

“Relax,” In one swift motion, the elezen continued and swept his hands to his beltline, slowly twisting and unknotting the leather bindings from their pattern across his groin. She followed his movements, watching as the tight cloth folded and fell, giving way to the expanse of his abdomen and hips. As he worked the trousers down his thighs, his length unfolded from the cloth and hung in a lean, erect line from his core. A dark blush danced over his cheeks upon meeting her eyes, but he leaned back into her body with confidence, “I’ll try to be gentle.” 

Emilia nodded and reached her hands up to his chest, resting her palms just below his shoulders, “I-I trust you.”

He smiled and caressed her face, his lips brushing against her reddened, swollen mouth. She whimpered at the contact, inevitably bruised from previous exchanges, but nonetheless she took to him, equally warm and passionate in exchange. The more the tension unwound, the harder he began to work his tongue along her, pushing and appealing, an invitation to distract her from the pain that’d follow from their joining.

“Relax.”

As their kiss began to deepen, he propped himself on his elbow, taking the expanse of his erection in hand. Gently, as she had sensed the shift in his body, he inclined his hips into the slopes near her thighs, slowly tracing himself along the slickness from their previous exchange. She shivered; her moans muffled by the kneading expanse of his mouth. As he then pressed, warm, pushing against the tension near her entrance, the moan turned into a long, pitched whine. As he began to sink lower, her breath turned into a pant, the combined motion of their hips now bringing beads of tears to the corners of her eyes.

“A-are you okay?” He rasped, pausing.

She nodded quickly, but the pained expression remained on her face. It’d been a long time since she’d felt fullness, especially of this length, enter her body. Now, it felt as though she was being pulled apart from the seams-pushing, pulling. It was welcoming, more so as he continued to move inside of her, but the longer he pressed the more uncomfortable she became

Aymeric took note of her discomfort, but bit down on his lip and continued his descent. He was mindful enough to take care, ensuring his motions were slow enough to allow her to adjust, yet he felt he was insistent enough to keep her attentions drawn on his movement-to keep her drawn to him.

She’d been correct earlier; he’d never been with any other than an Elezen, but the warm, clenching sensation that now enveloped him could compare to nothing he’d experienced. So small and frail, despite her renown titles and strength; her flattened ears and embarrassed flush, the slight peak of her canines as her mouth opened and sighed. Looking down at her, she looked so…enticing, “I-I’m going to move.” 

Emilia nodded gently, clenching her fists against his chest.

With her approval, he then began to pull from her, this time dipping back from the sheath of her body. She gasped as he did so, the breath lost against his cheek as he dipped his face into her hair, breathing deep alongside her ears. He’d known that she’d yet to really relax, to really allow herself to fall into him, but he was still so lost in her smell, her sounds. As he moved, this time deeper, the feeling of her squeezing down on him was almost enough to send him into ecstasy.

“Y-you can m-move…faster,” She panted, her fingers now clawing against his collar. “I-I think I’m ready.”

Aymeric closed his eyes and did as she bade, his speed now increasing to a metronomic pulse of hips and flesh. With each descent, her breath grew hotter, the pitch heightening to a series of light, breathless gasps. He, in turn, could feel his own breath coming hard against the side of her head. As they began to meet each other, harder, faster, he could feel her body clenching around him. Her legs now entwined around his back, muscled and tightly latched by her ankles and feet. With each stroke, she dug her heels into his spine and pulled her hips into his abdomen, grinding into him with fervor and need.

Though they’d become slick with sweat, her hands still grasped against the muscles in his shoulders, fingers digging against the skin drawn near his neck. Bruises would surely form on him by the morning, though he seemed to enjoy the thought of it; even though she may be gone by then, he’d at least have her touch lingering on him. 

“A-Aymeric,” She was gasping, her cheeks completely flushed and hot. The sight of her almost unwound him. Her pupils were large enough to mistake her for one of the moon rather than sun, sweat beading down her throat and collar, trickling down the swell of her breasts-it almost teased him.

He bit down on his lip, the sound of his name escaping through her lips engraving itself into his chest. Though he’d meant to be gentle, he could feel his hands digging into her hips, his body in desperate need of her skin, her contact.

Emilia let out a gasp as he began to slow, the long strokes of his body now pulsing and delving deeply into her core, wheres’t speed had been prior. Upon each stride, she could feel the walls of herself shaking, clenching down on him as if starved and famine. Both of them were close to their limits, but she didn’t want this to end. He smelled like sweets, like dark amber and crackling fire-his skin was like taught leather, tanned and spread over vast scars and equally chiseled muscles. 

After this, the politics would return-she’d leave, she’d adventure and protect, carry on her duties in Ishgard and Eorzea, as would he. Despite their mutual feelings, the Scions wouldn’t allow retirement, not when Hydaelyn called the miqo’te’s name-not when the Ascians wanted to lay claim to the star. How…how would they be able to ever do this again?

“E-Emilia,” Aymeric’s voice came as a dark, low rasp, breaking her from her thoughts, “I-I’m…about to…”

He trailed off as her lips rose to his, swallowing the words he was apt to finish, “I-Indulge me then, _Commander_.”

His lips curved into a soft, breathless smile as his he began to move once more. She, herself, began to follow suit-pulling her heels tight against his backside, pushing him closer and closer into her body. He gave no argument but leaned over her and took hold of her left breast, the other knotting within her hair. Each of his fingers worked in tandem, clenching, kneading, grasping onto her as their bodies began to compress, each reaching a point in which they required release.

She gave first, her voice mewling in a long, broken sigh. The muscles that had been taught in her thighs gave way to soft shakes and pulsating convulsions, each in time with her rapidly thrumming pulse. Aymeric wasn’t far behind, but he managed to remove himself from her before she could take him fully within herself. Unlike her, he stiffened and gasped, panting hard against the side of her neck and face. Sticky, threaded juices fell from his clenched hand, which had left her breast in favor of holding his now rapidly dwindling erection. He hadn’t expected to have caused such a mess, but without her permission, he’d never take himself in on that indulgence, not yet.

“I-I’m going to grab u-us a towel,” He murmured, leaning away from her body.

She nodded gently, watching as he walked from the bedside back towards his chamber room. The glow of the fire looked nice on him, especially mingled with the sweat on his back; he looked like an adventurer, not a politician.

As she was left to her thoughts, she sighed. The emptiness of him felt wrong now, as if she’d lost something during their exchange. The notion was preposterous, of course, but that same worry she’d pushed aside in lieu of appearing eager now flooded back; what if this wasn’t what it’d seemed? What if he’d gotten what he wanted, and now they were done? The atmosphere would return, their exchanges would fall back into awkward distances and chance glances, or would even those stop? She could try to be more open with him, maybe sneak into his office or home once she’d finished their errands, but just how welcoming would he be if she did so? What if someone saw her? Elezens in this land seemed to enjoy their gossip, especially any containing the man with whom she’d shared a bed. That’d be a controversy for the books, of that she was sure.

“I got you a warm towel,” Aymeric smiled as he approached the bed once more. He’d cleaned himself already, she noticed. His cheeks were still flushed, but a new pair of trousers now concealed the length of his long hips and legs-they looked out of place, compared to what she’d seen before. “Would you like for me to clean you?”

Emilia blushed as she crossed herself, now fully aware of how exposed she was in comparison. “I-I can do it myself.”

The elezen’s smile warmed, “Let me assist you.”

She frowned and turned over on the mattress, embarrassed at how messy her lower half was. “M-may I see the towel?”

He chuckled and walked over to her, standing between the legs she now had swung over the side. As he extended the fabric to her, she looked away from him and began to work it over her thighs, massaging in slow, meticulous circles. Even without meeting her gaze, he could see apprehension welling, her body language giving way to the discomfort and anxiety he assumed would follow after their…activity.

She liked to overthink, as he’d noted earlier in their conversations. Often, she was one to assume the worst, draw worry from events too far in the future to truly affect their present, and in a way, it pained him. She’d seen her share of circumstances in which that was warranted, blamed herself and drunk away memories of times in which it would have assisted rather than hindered, but here, with his confession, it truly did pain him.

“Would you object to sleeping with me this evening, Emilia?” Her ears twitched as his question sat, hanging between them with awkward, stalwart silence. 

“I really shouldn’t,” She murmured, still, she wouldn’t meet his eyes. 

“’Tis bad weather outside,” He noted, lowering himself to his knees. This way, she’d have to turn to look away from him, “I’ve notified others of where you are, those that matter wouldn’t have you venture back to the Fortemps this late.”

Emilia’s ears twitched again, “And what of the hour? I doubt I’d be jumped, I’ve a reputation for killing those who do.”

Aymeric laughed at her sincerity. Indeed, she had-with her title, he doubt anyone would be foolish enough to do so, but…then again, the Inn tonight was an entirely different situation. He leaned into her slightly, resting his hands just above the crook in her knees, “The hour has little to do with it, that much is true, but in good conscience, I can’t have you leave just yet.” 

“And why _not?_ ” Her voice suddenly took on a cool, venomous tone. The apathetic quality caught him by surprise, “You’ve gotten what you wanted from me.”

“I never hoped to gain anything, Emilia?” His brow furrowed.

Watery, hurt eyes glared up at him, each pooling with a set of angry tears. Again, he was shocked, “You…know what I mean, Aymeric.”

The elezen leaned into her, one of his hands reaching to her face. She flinched, each of her ears falling back against the length of her head. A realization crossed him as he gauged her, searching for the cause of her distress. “This was not a night in which I will forget easily,” he whispered, wiping at one the tears now falling down her cheek, “I wish to replicate this evening, and more, for as long as you will allow. ‘Tis that the worry?”

She ignored him, “I’m sure you would.”

“You are…cryptic to me, sometimes,” He smiled as her face twisted in embarrassment, “But if I may be so bold, Emilia, I simply meant I wished to hold you as you slept. I…though I know it ‘tis a selfish desire, I didn’t want you to leave me yet.”

“…Yet.”

He sighed, “’Tis a manner of speech, yes, though you wouldn’t leave me for long,” The tufts on the ends of her ears began to rise over the crown of her head, the fluffy brown tail at her back now swaying curiously, “I’d intended to bring my affections to your attention in one mean or another, now that they are known, I don’t intend to simply bide them by. ‘Tis that what worried you?”

Emilia’s eyes fell, this time shame kept her from meeting his eyes. Aymeric couldn’t help but chuckle, “It warms me to know you felt the same as I, my Warrior, but no, I did not intend to simply have us go back to being…diplomatic, as sorts. Of course there is a time for such, but now was not one of the moments I had in mind.”

Rather than answer him, the miqo’te dipped her head and rested herself along the lower half of his chest-even kneeling he managed to tower over her. “I-I apologize.”

He laughed, “No, I apologize for worrying you so. I should have made full my intentions from the beginning-I…simply feared how you’d respond if I did.”

She nuzzled against him; her hands now coiled lazily behind his back. “I wouldn't have denied you, Aymeric.”

“And for that I am grateful,” Gently, he stroked the curls lining the back of her head. “Come, let us rest before duties call. You’re still shaken from this evening, and your wounds.”

She grunted, “Can we stay like this just awhile longer?”

He smiled, “Of course.”


End file.
